CHAPTER I

MY father, Andrey Petrovitch Grinyov, had in his youth served under Count Miinnich and retired with the rank of first Major in 17—. From that time onwards he lived on his estate in the province of Simbirsk, where he married Avdotya Vassilyevna U., daughter of a poor landowner of the district. There had been nine of us. All my brothers and sisters died in infancy. Through the kindness of Prince B., our near relative, who was a major of the Guards, I was registered as sergeant in the Semyonovsky regiment. I was supposed to be on leave until I had completed my studies. Our bringing-up in those days was very different from what it is now. At tlie age of five I was entrusted to the groom Savelyitch, who was told off to look after me, as a reward for the sobriety of his behaviour. Under his supervision I had learned, by the age of twelve, to read and write Russian, and could judge very soundly the points of a borzoi dog. At that time my father hired for me a Frenchman, Monsieur Beaupre, who was fetched from Moscow together with the yearly supply of wine and olive oil. Savelyitch very much disliked his coming.

'The child, thank heaven, has his face washed and his hair combed, and his food given him,' he grumbled to himself. 'Much good it is to spend money on the Frenchman, as though there weren't enough servants on the estate!'

In his native land Beaupre had been a hairdresser; afterwards he was a soldier in Prussia, and then came to Russia pour etre outchitel,I without clearly understanding the meaning of that word. He was a good fellow, but extremely thoughtless and flighty. His chief weakness was his passion for the fair sex; his attentions were often rewarded by blows, which made him groan for hours. Besides, 'he was not an enemy of the bottle', as he put it; that is, he liked to take a drop too much. But since wine was only served in our house at dinner, and then only one glass to each person, and the tutor was generally passed over, my Beaupre soon grew accustomed to the Russian home-made brandy and, indeed, came to prefer it to the wines of his own country as being far better for the digestion. We made friends at once, and although he was supposed by the agreement to teach me 'French, German, and all subjects', he preferred to pick up some Russian from me and, after that, we each followed our own pursuits. We got on together capitally. I wished for no other mentor. But fate soon parted us, and this was how it happened.

The laundress, Palashka, a stout pock-marked girl, and the dairymaid, one-eyed Akulka, had agreed to throw themselves together at my mother's feet, confessing their culpable weakness and tearfully complaining of the mossoo who had seduced their innocence. My mother did not like to trifle with such things and complained to my father. My father was not one to lose time. He sent at once for that rascal, the Frenchman. They told him mossoo was giving me my lesson. My father went to my room. At that time Beaupre was sleeping the sleep of innocence on the bed;

I was usefully employed. I ought to mention that a map of the world had been ordered for me from Moscow. It hung on the wall; no use was made of it, and I had long felt tempted by its width and thickness. I decided to make a kite of it and, taking advantage of Beaupre's slumbers, set to work upon it. My father came in just at the moment when I was fixing a tail of tow to the Cape of Good Hope. Seeing my exercises in geography, my father pulled me by the ear, then ran up to Beaupre, roused him none too gently, and overwhelmed him with reproaches. Covered with confusion, Beaupre tried to get up but could not: the unfortunate Frenchman was dead drunk. He paid all scores at once: my father lifted him off the bed by the collar, kicked him out of the room, and sent him away that same day, to the indescribable joy of Savelyitch. This was the end of my education.

I grew up without any tuition, and spent my time chasing pigeons and playing leap-frog with the boys on the estate. Meanwhile I had turned sixteen. Then there came a change in my life.

One autumn day my mother was making jam with honey in the drawing-room, and I licked my lips as I looked at the boiling scum. My father sat by the window reading the Court Calendar, which he received every year. This book always had a great effect on him: he never read it without agitation, and the perusal of it invariably stirred his bile. My mother, who knew all his ways by heart, always tried to stow away the unfortunate book as far as possible, and sometimes the Court Calendar did not catch his eye for months. When, however, he did chance to find it, he would not let it out of his hands for hours. And so my father was reading the Court Calendar, shrugging his shoulders from time to time and saying in an undertone:

'Lieutenant-General! ... He was a sergeant in my company ... a Companion of two Russian Orders! . . . And it isn't long since he and I . . .'

At last my father threw the Calendar on the sofa, and sank into a thoughtfulness which boded nothing good.

He suddenly turned to my mother:

'Avdotya Vassilyevna, how old is Petrusha?'

'He will soon be seventeen,' my mother answered. 'Petrusha was born in the very year when Auntie Nastasya Gerasimovna lost her eye and when . . .'

'Very well,' my father interrupted her; 'it is time he went into the Service. He has been climbing dovecots long enough.'

My mother was so overwhelmed at the thought of parting from me that she dropped the spoon into the saucepan and tears flowed down her cheeks. My delight, however, could hardly be described. The idea of military service was connected in my mind with thoughts of freedom and of the pleasures of Petersburg life. I imagined myself as an officer of the Guards which, to my mind, was the height of human bliss.

My father did not like to change his plans or to put them off. The day for my departure was fixed. On the eve of it my father said that he intended sending with me a letter to my future chief and asked for paper and a pen.

'Don't forget, Andrey Petrovitch, to send my greetings to Prince B.,' said my mother, 'and to tell him that I hope he will be kind to Petrusha.'

'What nonsense!' my father answered, with a frown;'why should I write to Prince B.?'

'Why, you said you were going to write to Petrusha's chief?'

'Well, what of it?'

'But Petrusha's chief is Prince B., to be sure. Petrusha is registered in the Semyonovsky regiment.'

'Registered! What do I care about it? Petrusha is not going to Petersburg. What would he learn if he did his service there? To be a spendthrift and a rake? No, let him serve in the army and learn the routine of it, and know the smell of powder and be a soldier and not a fop in the Guards! Where is his passport? Give it me.'

My mother found my passport, which she kept put away in a chest together with my christening robe, and, witli a trembling hand, gave it to my father. My father read it attentively, put it before him on the table, and began his letter.

I was consumed by curiosity. Where was I being sent if not to Petersburg? I did not take my eyes off my father's pen, which moved rather slowly. At last he finished, sealed the letter in the same envelope with the passport, took off his spectacles, called me and said:

'Here is a letter for you to Andrey Karlovitch R., my old friend and comrade. You are going to Orenburg to serve under him.'

And so all my brilliant hopes were dashed to the ground! Instead of the gay Petersburg life, boredom in a distant and wild part of the country awaited me. Going into the army, of which I had thought with such delight only a moment before, now seemed to me a dreadful misfortune. But it was no use protesting! Next morning a travelling-chaise drove up to the house; my bag, a box with tea-things, and bundles of pies and rolls, the last tokens of family affection, were packed into it. My parents blessed me. My father said to me:

'Good-bye, Pyotr. Carry out faithfully your oath of allegiance; obey your superiors; don't seek their favour; don't put yourself forward, and do not shirk your duty; remember the saying: " Watch over your clothes while they are new, and over your honour while you are young" .'

My mother admonished me with tears to take care of myself, and bade Savelyitch look after 'the child'. They dressed me in a hare-skin jacket and a fox-fur coat over it. I stepped into the chaise with Savelyitch and set off on my journey weeping bitterly.

In the evening I arrived at Simbirsk, where I was to spend the next day in order to buy the things I needed; Savelyitcli was entrusted with the purchase of them. I put up at an inn. Savelyitch went out shopping early in the morning. Bored with looking out of the window into the dirty street, I wandered about the inn. Coming into the billiard-room I saw a tall man of about thirty-five, with a long black moustache, in a dressing-gown, a billiard-cue n his hand, and a pipe in his mouth. He was playing with the marker, who drank a glass of vodka on winning and crawled under the billiard-table on all fours when he lost. I watched their game. The longer it continued, the oftener the marker had to go on all fours, till at last he remained under the table altogether. The gentleman pronounced some expressive sentences by the way of a funeral oration and asked me to have a game. I refused, saying I could not play. This seemed to strike him as strange. He looked at me with something like pity; nevertheless, we entered into conversation. I learned that his name was Ivan Ivanovitch Zurin, that he was captain of a Hussar regiment, that he had come to Simbirsk to receive recruits, and was staying at the inn. Zurin invited me to share his dinner, such as it was, like a fellow-soldier. I readily agreed. We sat down to dinner.

Zurin drank a great deal and treated me, saying that I must get used to army ways; he told me military anecdotes, which made me rock with laughter, and we got up from table on the best of terms. Then he offered to teach me to play billiards.

'It is quite essential to us soldiers,' he said. 'On a march, for instance, one comes to some wretched little place by the western frontier; what is one to do? One can't be always beating Jews, you know. So there is nothing for it but to go to the inn and play billiards; and to do that one must be able to play!'

He convinced me completely and I set to work very diligently. Zurin encouraged me loudly, marvelled at the rapid progress I was making, and after several lessons suggested we should play for money, with three-farthings stakes, not for the sake of gain, but simply so as not to play for nothing, which, he said, was a most objectionable habit. I agreed to this, too, and Zurin ordered some punch and persuaded me to try it, repeating that I must get used to army life; what would the army be without punch! I did as he told me. We went on playing. The oftener I sipped from my glass, the more reckless I grew. My balls flew beyond the boundary every minute; I grew excited, abused the marker who did not know how to count, kept raising the stakes—in short, behaved like a silly boy who was having his first taste of freedom. I did not notice how the time passed. Zurin looked at the clock, put down his cue, and told me that I had lost a hundred roubles. I was somewhat taken aback. My money was with Savelyitch; I began to apologize; Zurin interrupted me:

'Please do not trouble, it does not matter at all. I can wait; and meanwhile let us go and see Arinushka.'

What can I say? I finished the day as recklessly as I had begun it. We had supper at Arinushka's. Zurin kept filling my glass and repeating that I ought to get used to army ways. I could hardly stand when we got up from the table; at midnight Zurin drove me back to the inn.

Savelyitch met us on the steps. He cried out when he saw the unmistakable signs of my zeal for the Service.

'What has come over you, sir?' he said in a shaking voice 'wherever did you get yourself into such a state? Good Lord! Such a dreadful thing has never happened to you before!'

'Be quiet, you old dodderer!' I mumbled. 'You must be drunk; go and lie down . . . and put me to bed.'

Next day I woke up with a headache, vaguely recalling the events of the day before. My reflections were interrupted by Savelyitch, who came in to me with a cup of tea.

'It's early you have taken to drinking, Pyotr Andreyitch,' he said to me, shaking his head, 'much too early. And whom do you get it from? Neither your father nor your grandfather were drunkards; and your mother, it goes without saying, never tastes anything stronger than kvass. And who is at the bottom of it all? That damned Frenchman. He kept running to Antipyevna: " Madame, shu voo pree vodka " . Here's a fine " shu voo pree " for you! There is no gainsaying it, he has taught you some good, the cur! And much need there was to hire an infidel for a tutor! As though master had not enough servants of his own!'

I was ashamed. I turned away and said to him: 'Leave me, Savelyitch, I don't want any tea'. But it was not easy to stop Savelyitch once he began sermonizing.

'You see now what it is to take too much, Pyotr Andreyitch. Your head is heavy, and you have no appetite. A man who drinks is no good for anything. . . . Have some cucumber-water with honey or, better still, half a glass of home-made brandy. Shall I bring you some ?'

At that moment a servant-boy came in and gave me a note from Zurin.

DEAR PYOTR ANDREYITCH,

Please send me by the boy the hundred roubles you lost to me at billiards yesterday. I am in urgent need of money. Always at your service,

IVAN ZURIN.

There was nothing for it. Assuming an air of indifference I turned to Savelyitch, who had charge of my money, my clothes, and all my affairs, and told him to give the boy a hundred roubles. 'What! Why should I give it him ?' 'I owe it to him,' I answered, as coolly as possible. 'Owe it!' repeated Savelyitch, growing more and more amazed; 'but when did you have time to contract a debt, sir? There's something wrong about this. You may say what you like, but I won't give the money.'

I thought that if at that decisive moment I did not get the better of the obstinate old man it would be difficult for me in the future to free myself from his tutelage, and so I said, looking at him haughtily:

'I am your master, and you are my servant. The money is mine. I lost it at billiards because it was my pleasure to do so; and I advise you not to argue, but to do as you are told.'

Savelyitch was so struck by my words that he clasped his hands and remained motionless.

'Well, why don't you go ?' I cried angrily.

Savelyitch began to weep.

'My dear Pyotr Andreyitch,' he said, in a shaking voice, 'do not make me die ot grief. My darling, do as I tell you, old man that I am; write to that brigand that it was all a joke, and that we have no such sum. A hundred roubles! Good Lord! Tell him that your parents have strictly forbidden you to play unless it be for nuts! . . .'

'That will do,' I interrupted him sternly; 'give me the money or I will turn you out.'

Savulyitch looked at me with profound grief and went to fetch the money. I was sorry for the poor old man, but I wanted to assert my independence and to prove that I was no longer a child.

The money was sent to Zurin. Savelyitch hastened to get me out of the accursed inn. He came to tell me that horses were ready. I left Simbirsk with an uneasy conscience and silent remorse, not saying good-bye to my teacher and not expecting ever to meet him again.

CHAPTER II

MY reflections on the journey were not particularly pleasant. The sum I had lost was considerable according to the standards of that time. I could not help confessing to myself that I had behaved stupidly at the Simbirsk inn, and I felt that I had been in the wrong with Savelyitch. It all made me wretched. The old man sat gloomily on the coach-box, his head turned away from me; occasionally he cleared his throat but said nothing. I was determined to make peace with him, but did not know how to begin. At last I said to him:

'There, there, Savelyitch, let us make it up! I am sorry; I see myself I was to blame. I got into mischief yesterday and offended you for nothing. I promise you I will be more sensible now and do as you tell me. There, don't be cross; let us make peace.'

'Ah, my dear Pyotr Andreyitch,' he answered, with a deep sigh, 'I am cross with myself—it was all my fault. How could I have left you alone at the inn! There it is — I yielded to temptation: I thought I would call on the deacon's wife, an old friend of mine. It's just as the proverb says—you go and see your friends and in jail your visit ends. It is simply dreadful! How shall I show myself before my master and mistress? What will they say when they hear that the child gambles and drinks?'

To comfort poor Savelyitch I gave him my word not to dispose of a single farthing without his consent in the future. He calmed down after a time, though now and again he still muttered to himself, shaking his head: 'A hundred roubles! It's no joke!'

I was approaching the place of my destination. A desolate plain intersected by hills and ravines stretched around. All was covered with snow . . . the sun was setting. The chaise was going along a narrow road, or, rather, a track made by peasant sledges. Suddenly the driver began looking anxiously at the horizon, and at last, taking off his cap, he turned to me and said:

'Hadn't we better turn back, sir?'

'What for?'

'The weather is uncertain: the wind is rising; see how it raises the snow.'

'But what of it?'

'Do you see that?'

The driver pointed with the whip to the east.

'I see nothing but the white steppe and a clear sky.'

'Why, that little cloud there.'

I certainly did see at the edge of the sky a white cloud which I had taken at first for a small hill in the distance. The driver explained to me that the cloud betokened a snowstorm.

I had heard about snowstorms in those parts, and knew that whole transports were sometimes buried by them. Savelyitch, like the driver, thought that we ought to turn back. But the wind did not seem to me strong; I hoped to arrive in time at the next station, and told the man to drive faster.

The driver set the horses at a gallop but still kept glancing eastwards. The horses went well. Meanwhile the wind grew stronger and stronger every hour. The little cloud grew bigger and rose heavily, gradually enveloping the sky. Fine snow began to fall, and then suddenly came down in big flakes. The wind howled, the snowstorm burst upon us. In a single moment the dark sky melted into the sea of snow. Everything was lost to sight.

'It's a bad look out, sir,' the driver shouted. 'Snowstorm !' I peeped out of the chaise: darkness and whirlwind were around us. The wind howled with such ferocious expressiveness tliat it seemed alive; Savelyitch and I were covered with snow; the horses walked on slowly and soon stopped altogether. 'Why don't you go on ?' I asked the driver impatiently.

'What's the good?' he answered, jumping off the box. 'don't know where we are as it is; there is no road and it is dark.'

I began scolding him, but Savelyitch took his side.

'Why ever didn't you take his advice?' he said angrily; 'you would have returned to the inn, had some tea and slept in comfort till the morning, and have gone on when the storm stopped. And what's the hurry? We aren't going to a wedding.'

Savelyitch was right. There was nothing to be done. Snow was falling fast. A great drift of it was being heaped by the chaise. The horses stood with their heads towards the ground and shuddered from time to time. The driver walked round them setting the harness to rights for the sake of something to do. Savelyitch was grumbling; I was looking around in the hope of seeing some sign of a homestead or of the road, but I could distinguish nothing in the opaque whirlwind of snow. Suddenly I caught sight of something black.

'Hey, driver!' I cried. 'Look, what is that black thing over there ?'

The driver stared into the distance.

'Heaven only knows, sir,' he said, climbing back on to the box; ' it's not a wagon and not a tree, and it seems to be moving. It must be a wolf or a man.'

I told him to go towards the unknown object, which immediately began moving towards us. In two. minutes we came upon a man.

'Hey, there, good man,' the driver shouted to him, 'do you know where the road is?'

'The road is here,' the wayfarer answered. 'I am standing on hard ground, but what's the good?'

'I say, my good fellow, do you know these parts?' I asked him. 'Could you guide us to a night's lodging?'

'I know the country well enough,' the wayfarer answered. 'I should think I have trodden every inch of it. But you see what the weather is: we should be sure to lose our way. Better stop here and wait; maybe the snowstorm will stop and when the sky is clear we can find our bearings by the stars.'

His coolness gave me courage. I decided to trust to Providence and spend the night in the steppe, when the wayfarer suddenly jumped on to the box and said to the driver:

'Thank God, there 's a village close by; turn to the right and make straight for it.'

'And why should I go to the right?' the driver asked with annoyance; ' where do you see the road? It's easy enough to drive other people's horses.'

The driver seemed to me to be right.

'Indeed, how do you know that we are close to a village?' I asked the man.

'Because the wind has brought a smell of smoke from over there,' he answered,' so a village must be near.'

His quickness and keenness of smell astonished me. I told the driver to go on. The horses stepped with difficulty in the deep snow. The chaise moved slowly, now going into a snowdrift, now dipping into a ravine and swaying from side to side. It was like being on a ship in a stormy sea. Savelyitch groaned as he kept jolting against me. I put down the front curtain, wrapped my fur coat round me and dozed, lulled to sleep by the singing of the storm and the slow swaying motion of the chaise.

I had a dream which I could never since forget and in which I still see a kind of prophecy when I reflect upon the strange vicissitudes of my life. The reader will forgive me, probably knowing from experience how natural it is for man to indulge in superstition, however great his contempt for all vain imaginings may be.

I was in that state of mind and feeling when reality gives way to dreams and merges into them in tlie shadowy visions of oncoming sleep. It seemed to me the storm was still raging and we were still wandering in the snowy desert. . . . Suddenly I saw a gateway and drove into the courtyard of our estate. My first thought was fear lest my father should be angry with me for my involuntary return and regard it as an intentional disobedience. Anxious, I jumped down from the chaise and saw my mother who came out to meet me on the steps, with an air of profound grief.

'Don't make any noise,' she said. 'Your father is ill; he is dying and wants to say good-bye to you.'

Terror-stricken, I followed her to the bedroom. It was dimly lighted; people with sad-looking faces were standing by the bed. I approached the bed quietly; my mother lifted the bed-curtains and said: 'Andrey Petrovitch! Petrusha has come; he returned when he heard of your illness; bless him'. I knelt down and looked at the sick man. But what did I see? Instead of my father a black - bearded peasant lay on the bed looking at me merrily. I turned to my mother in perplexity, and said to her: 'What does it mean? This is not my father. And why should I ask this peasant's blessing ?'—' Never mind, Petrusha,' my mother answered, ' he takes your father's place for the wedding; kiss his hand and he will bless you. . . .' I would not do it. Then the peasant jumped off the bed, seized an axe from behind his back, and began waving it about. I wanted to run away and could not; the room was full of dead bodies; I stumbled against them and slipped in the pools of blood. . . . The terrible peasant called to me kindly, saying: 'Don't be afraid, come and let me bless you'. Terror and confusion possessed me. ... At that moment I woke up. The horses were standing; Savelyitch held me by the hand, saying:

'Come out, sir; we have arrived.'

' Where ?' I asked, rubbing my eyes.

'At the inn. With the Lord's help we stumbled right against the fence. Make haste, come and warm yourself, sir.'

I stepped out of the chaise. The snowstorm was still raging though with less violence. It was pitch-dark. The landlord met us at the gate, holding a lantern under the skirt of his coat, and led us into a room that was small but clean enough; it was lighted by a burning splinter. A rifle and a tall Cossack cap hung on the wall.

The landlord, a Yaik Cossack, was a man of about sixty, active and well preserved. Savelyitch brought in the box with the tea-things and asked for a fire so that he could make tea, which had never seemed to me so welcome. The landlord went to look after things.

'Where is our guide?' I asked Savelyitch.

'Here, your honour,' answered a voice above me.

I looked up and on the shelf by the stove saw a black beard and two glittering eyes.

'You must have got chilled, brother?'

'I should think I did with nothing but a thin jerkin on!

I did have a sheepskin coat, but I confess I pawned it yesterday in a tavern; the frost did not seem to be bad.'

At that moment the landlord came in with a boiling samovar; I offered our guide a cup of tea; he climbed down from the shelf. His appearance, I thought, was striking. He was about forty, of medium height, lean and broad-shouldered. Grey was beginning to show in his black beard; his big, lively eyes were never still. His face had a pleasant but crafty expression. His hair was cropped like a peasant's; he wore a ragged jerkin and Turkish trousers. I handed him a cup of tea; he tasted it and made a grimace.

' Be so kind, your honour . . . tell them to give me a glass of vodka; tea is not a Cossack drink.'

I readily complied with his wish. The landlord took a glass and bottle out of the cupboard, came up to the man, and said, glancing into his face:

'Aha! you are in our parts again! Where do you come from?'

My guide winked significantly and answered in riddles:

'I flew about the kitchen-garden, picking hemp seed; granny threw a flint but missed me. And how are your fellows getting on?'

' Nothing much to be said of them,' the landlord said, also speaking in metaphors. 'They tried to ring the bells for vespers, but the priest's wife said they must not: the priest is on a visit and the devils are busy.'

'Be quiet, uncle,' the tramp answered; 'if it rains, there will be mushrooms, and if there are mushrooms there will be a basket for them; and now' (he winked again) 'put the axe behind your back: the forester is about. Your honour, here 's a health to you!'

With these words he took the glass, crossed himself, and drank it at one gulp; then he bowed to me and returned to the shelf by the stove.

I could not at the time understand anything of this thievish conversation, but later on I guessed they were talking of the affairs of the Yaik Cossacks, who had just settled down after their rebellion in 1772. Savelyitch listened with an air of thorough disapproval. He looked suspiciously both at the landlord and at our guide. The inn stood in the steppe by itself, far from any village, and looked uncommonly like a robbers' den. But there was nothing else for it. There could be no question of continuing the journey. Savelyitch's anxiety amused me greatly. Meanwhile I made ready for the night and lay down on the bench. Savelyitch decided to sleep on the stove; the landlord lay down on the floor. Soon the room was full of snoring and I dropped fast asleep.

Waking up rather late in the morning I saw that the storm had subsided. The sun was shining. The boundless steppe was wrapped in a covering of dazzling snow. The horses were harnessed. I paid the landlord, who charged us so little that even Savelyitch did not dispute about it or try to beat him down as was his wont; he completely forgot his suspicions of the evening before. I called our guide, thanked him for the help he had given us, and told Savelyitch to give him half a rouble for vodka. Savelyitch frowned.

'Half a rouble!' he said. 'What for? Because you were pleased to give him a lift and bring him to the inn? You may say what you like, sir, we have no half-roubles to spare. If we give tips to every one we shall soon have to starve.'

I could not argue with Savelyitch. I had promised that the money was to be wholly in his charge. I was annoyed however, at not being able to thank the man who had saved me from a very unpleasant situation, if not from actual danger.

'Very well,' I said calmly. 'If you don't want to give him half a rouble, give him something out of my clothes. He is dressed much too lightly. Give him my hareskin jacket.'

'Mercy on us, Pyotr Andreyitch!' Savelyitch cried. 'What is the good of your hareskin jacket to him? He will sell it for drink at the next pot-house, the dog.'

'That's no concern of yours, old fellow, whether I sell it for drink or not,' said the tramp. 'His honour gives me a fur coat of his own; it is your master's pleasure to do so, and your business, as a servant, is to obey and not to argue.'

'You have no fear of God, you brigand!' Savelyitch answered in an angry voice. 'You see the child has no sense as yet and you are only too glad to take advantage of his good nature. What do you want with a gentleman's coat? You can't squeeze your hulking great shoulders into it, however you try!'

'Please don't argue,' I said to the old man; 'bring the jacket at once.'

'Good Lord!' my Savelyitch groaned. 'Why, the jacket is almost new! To give it away, and not to a decent man either, but to a shameless drunkard!'

Nevertheless the hareskin jacket appeared. The peasant immediately tried it on. The jacket that I had slightly outgrown was certainly a little tight for him. He succeeded, however, in getting into it, tearing the seams as he did so. Savelyitch almost howled when he heard the threads breaking. The tramp was extremely pleased with my present. He saw me to the chaise and said, with a low bow:

'Thank you, your honour! May God reward you for your goodness; I shall not forget your kindness so long as I live.'

He went his way and I drove on, taking no notice of Savelyitch, and soon forgot the snowstorm of the day before, my guide, and the hareskin jacket.

Arriving in Orenburg I went straight to the General. I saw a tall man, already bent by age. His long hair was perfectly white. An old and faded uniform reminded one of the soldiers of Empress Anna's time; he spoke with a strong German accent. I gave him my father's letter. When I mentioned my name, he threw a quick glance at me.

' Du lieber Gott I' he said. 'It does not seem long since Andrey Petrovitch was your age, and now, see, what a big son he has! Oh, how time flies!'

He opened the letter and began reading it in an undertone, interposing his own remarks: '" My dear Sir, Andrey Karlovitch, I hope that your Excellency" . . . Why so formal? Fie, he should be ashamed of himself! Discipline is, of course, a thing of the first importance, but is this the way to write to an old Kameradf . . . " Your Excellency has not forgotten" . . . H'm . . . " and . . . when . . . the late Field-Marshal Miinnich . . . the march . . . and also . . . Carolinchen" . . . . Ehe, Bruder, so he still remembers our old escapades! " Now to business ... I am sending my young rascal to you " ... H'm ... " hold him in hedgehog gloves" . . . What are hedgehog gloves? It must be a Russian saying. . . . What does it mean?' he asked me.

'That means,' I answered, looking as innocent as possible, 'to treat one kindly, not to be too stern, to give one plenty of freedom.'

'H'm, I see ... " and not to give him too much rope" . No, evidently " hedgehog gloves" means something different. . . . " Herewith his passport" . . . Where is it? Ah, here. . . . " Write to the Semyonovsky regiment" . . . . Very good, very good; it shall be done. . . . " Allow me, forgetting your rank, to embrace you like an old friend and comrade" . . . Ah, at last he thought of it ... and so on and so on. . . .'

'Well, my dear,' he said, having finished the letter and put my passport aside, 'it shall all be done as your father wishes; you will be transferred, with the rank of an officer, to the N. regiment, and, not to lose time, you shall go tomorrow to the Belogorsky fortress to serve under Captain Mironov, a good and honourable man. You will see real service there and leam discipline. There is nothing for you to do at Orenburg; dissipation is bad for a young man. And to-night I shall be pleased to have you dine with me.'

'I am going from bad to worse!' I thought. 'What is the good of my having been a sergeant in the Guards almost before I was born! Where has it brought me? To the N. regiment and a desolate fortress on the border of the Kirghis Steppes!'

I had dinner with Andrey Karlovitch and his old aide-de-camp. Strict German economy reigned at his table, and I think the fear of seeing occasionally an additional visitor at his bachelor meal had something to do with my hasty removal to the garrison. The following day I took leave of the General and set off to my destination.

CHAPTER III

THE Belogorsky fortress was twenty-five miles from Orenburg. The road ran along the steep bank of the Yaik. The river was not yet frozen and its leaden waves looked dark and mournful between the monotonous banks covered with white snow. Beyond it the Kirghis Steppes stretched into the distance. I was absorbed in reflections, for the most part of a melancholy nature. Life in the fortress did not attract me. I tried to picture Captain Mironov, my future chief, and thought of him as a stem, bad-tempered old man who cared for nothing but discipline and was ready to put me under arrest on a diet of bread and water for the least little trifle. Meanwhile it was growing dusk. We were driving rather fast.

' Is it far to the fortress ?' I asked the driver.

' No, not far,' he answered;' it's over there, you can see it.' I looked from side to side, expecting to see menacing battlements, towers, and a moat, but saw nothing except a village surrounded by a log fence. On one side of it stood three or four haystacks, half-covered with snow, on another a tumbledown windmill with wings of bark that hung idle.

'But where is the fortress?' I asked in surprise.

'Why here,' answered the driver, pointing to the village, and as he spoke we drove into it.

At the gate I saw an old cannon made of cast iron; the Streets were narrow and crooked, the cottages small and, for the most part, with thatched roofs. I told the driver to take me to the Commandant's, and in another minute the chaise stopped before a wooden house built upon rising ground close to a church, also made of wood.

No one came out to meet me. I walked into the entry and opened the door into the next room. An old soldier was sitting on the table, sewing a blue patch on the sleeve of a green uniform. I asked him to announce me.

'Come in, my dear,' he said, 'our people are at home.'

I stepped into a clean little room, furnished in the old-fashioned style. In the comer stood a cupboard full of crockery; an officer's diploma in a frame under glass hung on the wall; coloured prints, representing 'The Taking of Otchakoff and Kustrin', 'The Choosing of a Bride', and 'The Cat's Funeral', made bright patches on each side of it. An elderly lady, dressed in a Russian jacket and with a kerchief on her head, was sitting by the window. She was winding yam which a one-eyed old man in an officer's uniform held for her on his outstretched hands.

'What is your pleasure, sir?' she asked me, going on with her work.

I answered that I had come to serve in the army, and thought it my duty to present myself to the Captain, and with these words I turned to the one-eyed old man whom I took to be the Commandant, but the lady of the house interrupted the speech I had prepared.

'Ivan Kuzmitch is not at home,' she answered; 'he has gone to see Father Gerasim; but it makes no difference, sir; I am his wife. You are very welcome. Please sit down.'

She called the maid and asked her to call the sergeant. The old man kept looking at me inquisitively with his single eye.

'May I be so bold as to ask in what regiment you have been serving?'

I satisfied his curiosity.

'And may I ask,' he continued, 'why you have been transferred from the Guards to the garrison ?'

I answered that such was the decision of my superiors.

'I presume it was for behaviour unseemly in an officer of the Guards?' the persistent old man went on.

'That 's enough nonsense,' the Captain's lady interrupted him. 'You see the young man is tired after the journey; he doesn't want to listen to you. . . . Hold your hands straight.'

'And don't you worry, my dear, that you have been banished to these wdds,' she went on, addressing herself to me. 'You are not the first nor the last. You will like it better when you are used to it. Shvabrin, Alexey Ivanitch, was transferred to us five years ago for killing a man. Heaven only knows what possessed him, but, would you believe it, he went out of town with a certain lieutenant and they both took swords and started prodding each other— and Alexey Ivanitch did for the lieutenant, and before two witnesses, too! There it is—one never knows what one may do.'

At that moment the sergeant, a young and well-built Cossack, came into the room.

'Maximitch!' the Captain's lady said to him, 'find a lodging for this gentleman and mind it is clean.'

'Yes, Vasilissa Yegorovna,' the Cossack answered. 'Shall I get rooms for his honour at Ivan Polezhaev's ?'

'Certainly not, Maximitch,' said the lady. 'Polezhaev is crowded as it is; besides, he is a friend and always remembers that we are his superiors. Take the gentleman . . . what is your name, sir?'

'Pyotr Andreyitch.'

'Take Pyotr Andreyitch to Semyon Kuzov's. He let his horse into my kitchen-garden, the rascal. Well, Maximitch, is everything in order?'

'All is well, thank God,' the Cossack answered; 'only Corporal Prohorov had a fight in the bath-house with Ustinya Negulina about a bucket of hot water.'

' Ivan Ignatyitch!' said the Captain's lady to the one-eyed old man, 'will you see into it and find out whether Ustinya or Prohorov is to blame. And punish them both! Well, Maximitch, you can go now. Pyotr Andreyitch, Maximitch will take you to your lodging.'

I took leave of her. The Cossack brought me to a cottage that stood on the high bank of the river at the very edge of the village. Half of the cottage was occupied by Semyon Kuzov's family, the other was allotted to me. It consisted of uiii. lairly clean room partitioned into two. Savelyitch began unpacking; I looked out of the narrow window. The melancholy steppe stretched before me. On one side I could see a few cottages; several hens strutted about the street. An old woman stood on the steps with a trough, calling to pigs that answered her with friendly grunting. And this was the place where I was doomed to spend my youth! I suddenly felt wretched; I left the window and went to bed without any supper in spite of Savelyitch's entreaties. He kept repeating in distress:

'Merciful heavens; he won't eat! What will my mistress say if the child is taken ill ?'

Next morning I had just begun to dress when the door opened and a young officer, short, swarthy, with a plain but extremely lively face, walked in.

'Excuse me,' he said to me in French, 'for coming without ceremony to make your acquaintance. Yesterday I heard of your arrival: I could not resist the desire to see at last a human face. You will understand this when you have lived here for a time.'

I guessed that this was the officer who had been dismissed from the Guards on account of a duel. We made friends at once. Shvabrin was very intelligent. His conversation was witty and entertaining. He described to me in a most amusing way the Commandant's family, their friends, and the place to which fate had brought him. I was screaming with laughter when the old soldier, whom I had seen mending a uniform at the Commandant's, came in and gave me Vasilissa Yegorovna's invitation to dine with them. Shvabrin said he would go with me.

As we approached the Commandant's house we saw in the square some twenty old garrison soldiers in three-cornered hats and with long plaits of hair at the back. They were standing at attention. The Commandant, a tall, vigorous old man, wearing a night-cap and a cotton dressing-gown, stood facing them. When he saw us, he came up, said a few kind words to me, and went on drilling his men. We stopped to look on, but he asked us to go to his house, promising to come soon after.

'There's nothing here worth looking at,' he added. Vasilissa Yegorovna gave us a kind and homely welcome, treating me as though she had known me all my life. The old pensioner and the maid Palasha were laying the table.

'My Ivan Kuzmitch is late with his drilling to-day,' she said. 'Palasha, call your master to dinner. And where is Masha?'

At that moment a girl of eighteen, with a rosy round face, came in; her fair hair was smoothly combed behind her ears which at that moment were burning with shyness. I did not particularly like her at the first glance. I was prejudiced against her: Shvabrin had described Masha, the Captain's daughter, as quite stupid. Marya Ivanovna sat down in a corner and began sewing. Meanwhile cabbage soup was served. Not seeing her husband, Vasilissa Yegorovna sent Palasha a second time to call him.

'Tell your master that our guests are waiting and the soup will get cold; there is always time for drilling, thank heaven; he can shout to his heart's content later on.'

The Captain soon appeared, accompanied by the one-eyed old man.

'What has come over you, my dear?' his wife said to him. 'Dinner has been served ages ago, and you wouldn't come.'

' But I was busy drilling soldiers, Vasilissa Yegorovna, let roe tell you.'

'Come, come,' his wife retorted, 'all this drilling is mere pretence—your soldiers don't learn anything and you are no good at it either. You had much better sit at home and say your prayers. Dear guests, come to the table.'

We sat down to dinner. Vasilissa Yegorovna was never silent for a minute and bombarded me with questions: who were my parents, were they living, where did they live, how big was their estate. When she heard that my father had three hundred serfs she said: 'Just fancy! to think of there being rich people in the world! And we, my dear, have only one maid, Palasha, but we are comfortable enough, thank heaven. The only trouble is Masha ought to be getting married, and all she has by way of dowry is a comb and a broom and a brass farthing. If the right man turns up, all well and good, but, if not, she will die an old maid.'

I glanced at Marya Ivanovna; she flushed crimson and tears dropped into her plate. I felt sorry for her and hastened to change the conversation.

'I have heard,' I said, rather inappropriately, 'that the Bashkirs propose to attack your fortress.'

'From whom have you heard it, my good sir?' Ivan Kuzmitch asked.

'I was told it at Orenburg,' I answered.

'Don't you believe it!' said the Commandant, 'we have not heard anything of it for years. The Bashkirs have been scared and the Kirghis, too, have had their lesson. No fear, they won't attack us; and if they do I will give them such a fright that they will keep quiet for another ten years.'

'And you are not afraid,' I continued, turning to Vasilissa Yegorovna, 'to remain in a fortress subject to such dangers?'

'It's habit, my dear,' she answered. 'Twenty years ago when we were transferred here from the regiment I cannot tell you how I dreaded those accursed infidels! As soon as I saw their lynx caps and heard their squealing, my heart stood still, would you believe it! And now I have grown so used to it that I don't stir when they tell us the villains are prowling round the fortress.'

'Vasilissa Yegorovna is a most courageous lady,' Shvabrin remarked, pompously. 'Ivan Kuzmitch can bear witness to it.'

'Yes; she is not of the timid sort, let me tell you!' Ivan Kuzmitch assented.

'And Marya Ivanovna? Is she as brave as you are?' I asked.

'Is Masha brave?' her mother answered. 'No, Masha is a coward. She can't bear even now to hear a rifle-shot; it makes her all of a tremble. And when, two years ago, Ivan Kuzmitch took it into his head to fire our cannon on my name-day, she nearly died of fright, poor dear. Since then we haven't fired the cursed cannon any more.'

We got up from the table. The Captain and his wife went to lie down, and I went to Shvabrin's and spent the rest of the day with him.

CHAPTER IV

SEVERAL weeks had passed and my life in the Belogorsky fortress had grown not merely endurable but positively pleasant. I was received in the Commandant's house as one of the family. The husband and wife were most worthy people. Ivan Kuzmitch, who had risen from the ranks to be an officer, was a plain and uneducated man, but most kind and honourable. His wife ruled him, which suited his easy-going disposition. Vasilissa Yegorovna looked upon her husband's military duties as her own concern and managed the fortress as she did her own home. Marya Ivanovna soon lost her shyness with me and we made friends. I found her to be a girl of feeling and good sense. Imperceptibly I grew attached to tlie kind family, and even to Ivan Ignatyitch, the one-eyed lieutenant of the garrison;

Shvabrin had said of him that he was on improper terms with Vasilissa Yegorovna, though there was not a semblance of truth in it; but Shvabrin did not care about that.

I received my commission. My military duties were not strenuous. In our blessed fortress there were no parades, no drills, no sentry duty. Occasionally the Commandant, of his own accord, taught the soldiers, but had not yet succeeded in teaching all of them to know their left hand from their right. Shavbrin had several French books. I began reading and developed a taste for literature. In the mornings I read, practised translating, and sometimes composed verses; I almost always dined at the Commandant's and spent there the rest of the day; in the evenings. Father Gerasim and his wife, Akulina Pamfilovna, the biggest gossip in the neighbourhood, sometimes came there also. Of course I saw Alexey Ivanitch Shvabrin every day, but his conversation grew more and more distasteful to me as time went on. I disliked his constant jok'es about the Commandant's family and, in particular, his derisive remarks about Marya Ivanovna. There was no other society in the fortress; and, indeed, I wished for no other.

In spite of the prophecies, the Bashkirs did not rise. Peace reigned around our fortress. But the peace was suddenly disturbed by an internal war.

I have already said that I tried my hand at literature. Judged by the standards of that period my attempts were quite creditable, and several years later Alexander Petrovitch Sumarokov' thoroughly approved of them. One day I succeeded in writing a song that pleased me. Everybody knows that sometimes under the pretext of seeking advice writers try to find an appreciative listener. And so, having copied out my song, I took it to Shvabrin, who was the only person in the fortress capable of doing justice to the poet's work. After a few preliminary remarks I took my note-book out of my pocket and read the following verses to him:

'Thoughts of love I try to banish And her beauty to forget, And, ah me! avoiding Masha Hope I shall my freedom get.

But the eyes that have seduced ma Are before me night and day, To confusion they 've reduced me, Driven rest and peace away.

When you hear of my misfortunes Pity, Masha, pity me! You can see my cruel torments: I am captive held by thee.'

' What do you think of it ?' I asked Shvabrin, expecting praise as my rightful due. But to my extreme'annoyance Shvabrin, who was usually a kind critic, declared that my song was bad.

'Why so?' I asked, concealing my vexation. 'Because such lines are worthy of my teacher, Vassily Kirillitch Tretyakovsky, and greatly remind me of his love-verses.'(One of the early Russian writers of poetry, remarkable for his ui wearying zeal and utter lack of talent.—TRANSLATOR'S NOTE)

(Sumarokov (1718-77), an early Russian poet of the pseudo-classical school.—TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.)

He then took my note-book from me and began mercilessly criticizing every line and every word of the poem, mocking me in a most derisive manner. I could not endure it, snatched the note-book from him, and said I would never show him my verses again. Shvabrin laughed at this threat too.

'We shall see,' he said, 'whether you will keep your word. Poets need a listener as much as Ivan Kuzmitch needs his decanter of vodka before dinner. And who is this Masha to whom you declare your tender passion and love-sickness? Is it Marya Ivanovna by any chance?'

' It's none of your business whoever she may be,' I answered frowning. ' I want neither your opinion nor your conjectures.'

'Oho! A touchy poet and a modest lover!' Shvabrin went on, irritating me more and more. 'But take a friend's advice: if you want to succeed, you must have recourse to something better than songs.'

'What do you mean, sir? Please explain yourself.' 'Willingly. I mean that if you want Masha Mironov to visit you at dusk, present her with a pair of ear-rings instead of tender verses.'

My blood boiled.

'And why have you such an opinion of her?' I asked, hardly able to restrain my indignation.

'Because I know her manners and morals from experience,' he answered, with a fiendish smile.

'It's a lie, you scoundrel,' I cried furiously. 'It's a shameless lie!'

Shvabrin changed colour.

'You'll have to pay for this,' he said, gripping my hand; 'you will give me satisfaction.'

'Certainly — whenever you like,' I answered, with relief. I was ready to tear him to pieces at that moment.

I went at once to Ivan Ignatyitch, whom I found with a needle in his hands threading mushrooms to dry for the winter, at Vasilissa Yegorovna's request.

'Ah, Pyotr Andreyitch! Pleased to see you!' he said, when he saw me. 'What good fortune brings you? What business, may I ask ?'

I explained to him briefly that I had quarrelled with Alexey Ivanitch and was asking him, Ivan Ignatyitch, to be my second. Ivan Ignatyitch listened to me attentively, staring at me with his solitary eye.

'You are pleased to say,' he answered, 'that you intend to kill Alexey Ivanitch and wish me to witness it? Is that so, may I ask?'

'Quite so.'

' Good heavens, Pyotr Andreyitch! What are you thinking about? You have quarrelled with Alexey Ivanitch? What ever does it matter? Bad words are of no consequence. He abuses you—you swear back at him; he hits you in the face—you hit him on the ear, twice, three times—and then go your own way; and we shall see to it that you make it up later on. But killing a fellow-creature—is that a right thing to do, let me ask you? And, anyway, if you killed him it wouldn't matter so much; I am not very fond of Alexey Ivanitch myself, for the matter of that. But what ii he makes a hole in you? What will that be like? Who will be made a fool of then, may I ask ?'

The sensible old man's arguments did not shake me. I stuck to my intention.

'As you like,' said Ivan Ignatyitch. 'Do what you think best. But why should I be your witness? What for? Two men fighting each other! What is there worth seeing in it, may I ask? I 've been in the Swedish War and the Turkish, and, believe me, I 've seen fighting enough.'

I tried to explain to him the duties of a second, but Ivan Ignatyitch simply could not understand me.

'You may say what you like,' he said, 'but if I am to take part in this affair it is only to go to Ivan Kuzmitch and tell him, as duty bids me, that a crime contrary to the interests of the State is being planned in the fortress—and to ask if the Commandant would be pleased to take proper measures.'

I was alarmed and begged Ivan Ignatyitch to say nothing to the Commandant. I had difficulty in persuading him, but at last he gave me his word and I left him.

I spent the evening, as usual, at the Commandant's. I tried to appear cheerful and indifferent so as to escape inquisitive questions, and not give grounds for suspicion, but I confess I could not boast of the indifference which people in my position generally profess to feel. That evening I was inclined to be tender and emotional. Marya Ivanovna attracted me more than ever. The thought that I might be seeing her for the last time made her seem particularly touching to me. Shvabrin was there also. I took him aside and told him of my conversation with Ivan Ignatyitch.

'What do we want with seconds?' he said to me, dryly;

'we will do without them.'

We arranged to fight behind the corn-stacks near the fortress and to meet there the following morning between six and seven. We appeared to be talking so amicably that Ivan Ignatyitch, delighted, let out the secret.

'That's right!' he said to me, looking pleased; 'a bad peace is better than a good quarrel; a damaged name is better than a damaged skin.'

'What's this, what's this, Ivan Ignatyitch?' asked Vasilissa Yegorovna, who was telling fortunes by cards in the corner and had not listened.

Ivan Ignatyitch, seeing my look of annoyance and recalling his promise, was confused and did not know what to say. Shvabrin hastened to his assistance.

'Ivan Ignatyitch approves of our making peace,' he said.

'But with whom had you quarrelled, my dear ?'

'I had rather a serious quarrel with Pyotr Andreyitch.'

'What about?'

'About the merest trifle, Vasilissa Yegorovna: a song.'

'That's a queer thing to quarrel about! A song! But how did it happen?'

'Wliy, this is how it was. Not long ago Pyotr Andreyitch composed a song and to-day he began singing it in my presence, and I struck up my favourite:

" Captain's daughter, I warn you, Don't you go for midnight walks."

'There was discord. Pyotr Andreyitch was angry at first, but then he thought better of it, and decided that every one may sing what he likes. And that was the end of it.'

Shvabrin's impudence very nearly incensed me, but no one except me understood his coarse hints, or, at any rate, no one took any notice of them. From songs the conversation turned to poets; the Commandant remarked that they were a bad lot and bitter drunkards, and advised me, as a friend, to give up writing verses, for such an occupation did not accord with military duties and brought one to no good.

Shvabrin's presence was unendurable to me. I soon said good-bye to the Captain and his family; when I came home I examined my sword, felt the point of it, and went to bed, telling Savelyitch to wake me at six o'clock.

The following morning I stood behind the corn-stacks at the appointed hour waiting for my opponent. He arrived soon after me.

'We may be disturbed,' he said. ' We had better be quick.'

We took off our uniforms and, dressed in our jackets only, bared our swords. At that moment Ivan Ignatyitch with five soldiers of the garrison suddenly appeared from behind the stacks. He requested us to go to the Commandant's. We obeyed, vexed as we were; the soldiers surrounded us and we followed Ivan Ignatyitch, who led us in triumph, stepping along with an extraordinary air of importance.

We entered the Commandant's house. Ivan Ignatyitch opened the doors and solemnly proclaimed: 'I have brought them!'

We were met by Vasilissa Yegorovna.

'Goodness me! What ever next? What? How could you? Planning murder in our fortress! Ivan Kuzmitch, put them under arrest at once! Pyotr Andreyitch, Alexey Ivanitch! Give me your swords, give them up, give them up! Palasha, take these swords to the pantry! I did not expect this of you, Pyotr Andreyitch; aren't you ashamed of yourself? It is all very well for Alexey Ivanitch—he has been dismissed from the Guards for killing a man, and he does not believe in God, but fancy you doing a thing like this! Do you want to be like him ?'

Ivan Kuzmitch fully agreed with his wife, and kept repeating:

'Vasilissa Yegorovna is quite right; let me tell you duels are explicitly forbidden in the army.'

Meanwhile Palasha took our swords and carried them to the pantry. I could not help laughing, Shvabrin retained his composure

'With all my respect for you,' he said coolly, 'I must observe that you give yourself unnecessary trouble in passing judgment upon us. Leave it to Ivan Kuzmitch—it is his business

'But, my dear sir, aren't husband and wife one flesh and one spirit?' the Commandant's lady retorted. 'Ivan Kuzmitch, what are you thinking of? Put them under arrest at once in different corners and give them nothing but bread and water till they come to their senses! And let father Gerasim set them a penance that they may beg God to forgive them and confess their sin to the people.'

Ivan Kuzmitch did not know what to do. Marya Ivanovna was extremely pale. Little by little the storm subsided;

Vasilissa Yegorovna calmed down and made us kiss each other. Palasha brought us back our swords. We left the Commandant's house apparently reconciled. Ivan Ignatyitch accompanied us.

'Aren't you ashamed,' I said to him angrily, 'to have betrayed us to the Commandant when you promised me not to?'

'God is my witness, I never said anything to Ivan Kuzmitch,' he answered; ' Vasilissa Yegorovna wormed it all out of me. And she made all the arrangements without saying a word to Ivan Kuzmitch. . . . But thank Heaven that it has all ended in this way.'

With these words he turned home and Shvabrin and I were left alone.

'We cannot let it end at that,' I said to him.

'Of course not,' Shvabrin answered; 'you will answer me with your blood for your insolence, but I expect we shall be watched. We shall have to pretend to be friends for a few days. Good-bye.'

And we parted as though nothing had happened. Returning to the Commandant's I sat down, as usual, by Marya Ivanovna. Ivan Kuzmitch was not at home; Vasilissa Yegorovna was busy with household matters. Marya Ivanovna tenderly reproached me for the anxiety I had caused every one by my quarrel with Shvabrin.

' I was quite overcome,' she said, ' when I heard you were going to fight. How strange men are! Because of a single word which they would be sure to forget in a week's time they are ready to kill each other and to sacrifice their lives and their conscience and the welfare of those who . . . But I am sure you did not begin the quarrel. Alexey Ivanitch is probably to blame.'

'And why do you think so, Marya Ivanovna?'

'Oh, I don't know . . . he always jeers at people. I don't like Alexey Ivanitch. He repels me and yet, strange to say, I would not, on any account, have him dislike me also. That would worry me dreadfully.'

'And what do you think, Marya Ivanovna? Does he like you?'

Marya Ivanovna stammered and blushed.

'I think . . .' she said,' I believe he does like me.'

'And why do you believe it?'

'Because he made me an offer of marriage.'

'He made you an offer of marriage? When?'

' Last year. Some two months before you came.'

'And you refused?'

'As you see. Of course, Alexey Ivanitch is clever and rich, and of good family; but when I think that in church I should have to kiss him before all the people . . . not for anything! Nothing would induce me!'

Marya Ivanovna's words opened my eyes and explained a great deal to me. I understood the persistent slander with which he pursued her. The words that gave rise to our quarrel seemed to me all the more vile when, instead of coarse and unseemly mockery, I saw in them deliberate calumny. My desire to punish the impudent slanderer grew more intense, and I waited impatiently for an opportunity.

I did not have to wait long. The following day as I sat composing an elegy, biting my pen as I searched for a rhyme, Shvabrin knocked at my window. I left my pen, picked up my sword, and went out to him.

'Why wait?' Shvabrin said, 'we are not watched. Let us go down to the river. No one will disturb us there.'

We walked in silence. Descending by a steep path we stopped at the river-bank and bared our swords. Shvabrin was more skilled than I, but I was stronger and more daring; Monsieur Beaupre, who had once been a soldier, had given me a few lessons in fencing and I made use of them. Shvabrin had not expected to find in me so formidable an opponent. For a time we could neither of us do the other any harm; at last, observing that Shvabrin was weakening, I began to press him and almost drove him into the river. Suddenly I heard someone loudly calling my name. I turned round and saw Savelyitch running towards me down the steep path ... at that moment I felt a stab in my breast under the right shoulder, and fell down senseless.

CHAPTER V

WHEN I regained consciousness I could not grasp for a few minutes where I was, and what had happened to me. I was lying on a bed in a strange room, feeling very weak. Savelyitch was standing before me with a candle in his hand. Someone was carefully unwrapping the bandages round my chest and shoulder. Gradually my thoughts cleared. I remembered my duel, and understood that I had been wounded. At that moment the door creaked.

'How is he?' whispered a voice which sent a tremor through me.

' Still the same,' Savelyitch answered, with a sigh. ' Still unconscious. It's the fifth day.'

I tried to turn my head, but could not.

'Where am I? Who is here?' I said, with an effort.

Marya Ivanovna came up to my bed and bent over me.

'Well, how do you feel?' she asked.

'God be thanked,' I answered in a weak voice. 'Is it you, Marya Ivanovna? Tell me . . .'

I had not the strength to go on, and broke off. Savelyitch cried out. His face lit up with joy.

' He has come to his senses! Thank God! Well, my dear Pyotr Andreyitch, you have given me a fright! Five days, it's no joke!'

Marya Ivanovna interrupted him.

'Don't talk to him too much, Savelyitch,' she said, 'he is still weak.' She went out and quietly closed the door.

My thoughts were in a turmoil. And so I was in the Commandant's house: Marya Ivanovna had come in to me. I wanted to ask Savelyitch several questions, but the old man shook his head and stopped his ears. I closed my eyes in vexation and soon dropped asleep.

When I woke up I called Savelyitch, but instead of him I saw Marya Ivanovna before me; her angelic voice greeted me. I cannot express the blissful feeling that possessed me at that moment. I seized her hand and covered it with kisses, wetting it with tears of tenderness. Masha did not withdraw her hand . . . and suddenly her lips touched my cheek and I felt their fresh and ardent kiss. A flame ran through me.

'Dear, kind Marya Ivanovna,' I said to her, 'be my wife, consent to make me happy.'

She regained her self-possession.

'Calm yourself, for heaven's sake,' she said, taking her hand from me, 'you are not out of danger yet—the wound may open. Take care of yourself, if only for my sake.'

With these words she went out, leaving me in an ecstasy of delight. Happiness revived me. Slie would be mine! She loved me! My whole being was filled with this thought.

From that time onward I grew better every hour. I was treated by the regimental barber, for there was no other doctor in the fortress, and fortunately he did not attempt to be clever. Youth and nature hastened my recovery. The whole of the Commandant's family looked after me. Marya Ivanovna never left my side. Of course, at the first opportunity, I returned to our interrupted explanation, and Marya Ivanovna heard me out with more patience. Without any affectation she confessed her love for me and said that her parents would certainly be glad of her happiness.

'But think well,' she added, 'won't your parents raise objections ?'

I pondered. I had no doubts of my mother's kindness; but knowing my father's views and disposition I felt that my love would not particularly touch him and that he would look upon it as a young man's whim. I candidly admitted this to Marya Ivanovna, but decided to write to my father as eloquently as possible, asking him to give us his blessing. I showed my letter to Marya Ivanovna, who found it so touching and convincing that she never doubted of its success and abandoned herself to the feelings of her tender heart with all the trustfulness of youth and love.

I made peace with Shvabrin in the first days of my convalescence. In reprimanding me for the duel Ivan Kuzmitch had said to me:

'Ah, Pyotr Andreyitch, I ought really to put you under arrest, but you have been punished enough already. Alexey Ivanitch, though, is shut up in the storehouse and Vasilissa Yegorovna has his sword under lock and key. It is just as well he should think things over and repent.'

I was much too happy to retain any hostile feeling in my heart. I interceded for Shvabrin, and the kind Commandant, with his wife's consent, decided to release him. Shvabrin called on me; he expressed a profound regret for what had passed between us; he admitted that he had been entirely to blame and asked me to forget the past. It was not in my nature to harbour malice and I sincerely forgave him both our quarrel and the wound he had inflicted on me. I ascribed his slander to the vexation of wounded vanity and rejected love, and generously excused my unhappy rival.

I was soon quite well again and able to move into my lodgings; I awaited with impatience the answer to my last letter, not daring to hope, and trying to stifle melancholy forebodings. I had not yet declared my intentions to Vasilissa Yegorovna and her husband; but my offer was not likely to surprise them. Neither Marya Ivanovna nor I attempted to conceal our feelings from them, and we were certain of their consent beforehand.

At last, one morning Savelyitch came in to me holding a letter. I seized it with a tremor. The address was written in my father's hand. This prepared me for something important, for as a rule it was my mother who wrote to me and my father only added a few lines at the end of the letter. Several minutes passed before I unsealed the envelope, reading over again and again the solemnly worded address: 'To my son Pyotr Andreyevitch Grinyov, at the Belogorsky fortress in the Province of Orenburg'. I tried to guess from the handwriting in what mood my father wrote the letter; at last I brought myself to open it and saw from the very first lines that all was lost. The letter was as follows:

MY SON PYOTR!

On the 15th of this month we received the letter in which you ask for our parental blessing and consent to your marriage with Marya Ivanovna, Mironov's daughter; I do not intend to give you either my blessing or my consent, and, indeed, I mean to get at you and give you a thorough lesson as to a naughty boy for your pranks, not regarding your officer's rank, for you have proved that you are not yet worthy to wear the sword which has been given you to defend your fatherland, and not to fight duels with scapegraces like yourself. I will write at once to Audrey Karlovitch asking him to transfer you from the Belogorsky fortress to some remote place where you can get over your foolishness. When your mother heard of your duel and of your being wounded, she was taken ill with grief and is now in bed. What will become of you? I pray to God that you may be reformed although I dare not hope in His great mercy. Your father,

A.G.

The perusal of this letter stirred various feelings in me. The cruel expressions, which my father did not stint, wounded me deeply. The contemptuous way in which he referred to Marya Ivanovna appeared to me as unseemly as it was unjust. The thought of my being transferred from the Belogorsky fortress terrified me; but most of all I was grieved by the news of my mother's illness. I felt indignant with Savelyitch, never doubting it was he who had informed my parents of the duel. As I paced up and down my tiny room I stopped before him and said, looking at him angrily:

'So it's not enough for you that I have been wounded because of you, and lain for a whole month at death's door— you want to kill my mother as well.'

Savelyitch was thunderstruck.

'Good heavens, sir, what are you saying?' he said, almost sobbing. " You have been wounded because of me! God knows I was running to shield you with my own breast from Alexey Ivanitch's sword! It was old age, curse it, that hindered me. But what have I done to your mother?'

'What have you done?' I repeated. 'Who asked you to betray me? Are you here to spy on me?'

'I betrayed you?' Savelyitch answered with tears. '0 Lord, King of Heaven! Very well, read then what master writes to me: you will see how I betrayed you.'

He pulled a letter out of his pocket and read the following:

' You should be ashamed, you old dog, not to have written to me about my son, Pyotr Andreyevitch, in spite of my strict orders; strangers have to inform me of his misdoings. So this is how you carry out your duties and your master's will? I will send you to look after pigs, you old dog, for concealing the truth, and conniving with the young man. As soon as you receive this I command you to write to me at once about his health, which, I am told, is better, in what place exactly he was wounded, and whether his wound has healed properly.'

It was obvious that Savelyitch was innocent and I had insulted him for nothing by my reproaches and suspicion. I begged his pardon; but the old man was inconsolable.

'This is what I have come to,' he kept repeating; 'this is the favour my masters show me for my services! I am an old dog and a swineherd, and I am the cause of your wound! . . . No, my dear Pyotr Andreyitch, not I, but the damned Frenchman is at the bottom of it: he taught you to prod people with iron spits, and to stamp with your feet, as though prodding and stamping could save one from an evil man! Much need tliere was to hire the Frenchman and spend money for nothing!'

But who, then, had taken the trouble to inform my father of my conduct? The General? But he did not seem to show much interest in me, and Ivan Kuzmitch did not think it necessary to report my duel to him. I was lost in conjectures. My suspicions fixed upon Shvabrin. He alone could benefit by informing against me and thus causing me, perhaps, to be removed from the fortress and parted from the Commandant's family. I went to tell it all to Marya Ivanovna. She met me on the steps.

' What is the matter with you ?' she said when she saw me. ' How pale you are!'

'All is lost,' I answered, and gave her my father's letter.

She turned pale, too. After reading the letter she returned it to me with a hand that shook, and said in a trembling voice:

'It seems it is not to be. . . . Your parents do not want me in your family. God's will be done! God knows better than we do what is good for us. There is nothing for it. Pyotr Andreyitch, may you at least be happy. . . .'

'This shall not be,' I cried, seizing her hand; 'you love me;

I am ready to face any risk. Let us go and throw ourselves at your parents' feet; they are simple-hearted people, not hard and proud . . . they will bless us; we will be married . . . and then in time I am sure we will soften my father's heart; my mother will intercede for us; he will forgive me.'

'No, Pyotr Andreyitch,' Masha answered, 'I will not marry you without your parents' blessing. Without their blessing there can be no happiness for you. Let us submit to God's will. If you find a wife, if you come to love another woman —God be with you, Pyotr Andreyitch; I shall pray for you both. . . .'

She burst into tears and left me; I was about to follow her indoors, but feeling that I could not control myself, returned home.

I was sitting plunged in deep thought when Savelyitch broke in upon my reflections.

'Here, sir,' he said, giving me a piece of paper covered with writing,' see if I am an informer against my master and if I try to make mischief between father and son.'

I took the paper from his hands: it was Savelyitch's answer to my father's letter. Here it is, word for word:

DEAR SIR, ANDREY PETROVITCH, OUR GRACIOUS FATHER!

I have received your gracious letter, in which you are pleased to be angry with me, your servant, saying that I ought to be ashamed not to obey my master's orders; I am not an old dog but your faithful servant; I obey your orders and have always served you zealously and have lived to be an old man. I have not written anything to you about Pyotr Andreyitch's wound, so as not to alarm you needlessly, for I hear that, as it is, the mistress, our mother Avdotya Vassilyevna, has been taken ill with fright, and I shall pray for her health. Pyotr Andreyitch was wounded in the chest under the right shoulder, just under the bone, three inches deep, and he lay in the Commandant's house where we carried him from the river-bank, and the local barber, Stepan Paramonov, treated him, and now, thank God, Pyotr Andreyitch is well and there is nothing but good to be said of him. His commanders, I hear, are pleased with him and Vasilissa Yegorovna treats him as though he were her own son. And as to his having got into trouble, that is no disgrace to him: a horse has four legs, and yet it stumbles. And you are pleased to write that you will send me to herd pigs. That is for you to decide as my master. I humbly salute you.

Your faithful serf,

ARHIP SAVELYEV.

I could not help smiling more than once as I read the good old man's epistle. I felt I could not answer my father, and Savelyitch's letter seemed to me sufficient to relieve my mother's anxiety.

From that time my position changed. Marya Ivanovna hardly spoke to me and did her utmost to avoid me. The Commandant's house lost all its attraction for me. I gradually accustomed myself to sit at home by myself. Vasilissa Yegorovna chid me for it at first, but seeing my obstinacy left me in peace. I only saw Ivan Kuzmitch when my duties required it; I seldom met Shvabrin and did so reluctantly, especially as I noticed his secret dislike of me, which confirmed my suspicions. Life became unbearable to me. I sank into despondent brooding, nurtured by idleness and isolation. My love grew more ardent in solitude and oppressed me more and more. I lost the taste for reading and composition. My spirits drooped. I was afraid that I should go out of my mind or take to drink. Unexpected events that had an important influence upon my life as a whole suddenly gave my mind a powerful and beneficial shock.

CHAPTER VI

BEFORE I begin describing the strange events which I witnessed, I must say a few words about the position in the Province of Orenburg at the end of 1773.

This vast and wealthy province was inhabited by a number of half-savage peoples who had but recently acknowledged the sovereignty of the Russian Tsars. Unused to the laws and habits of civilized life, cruel and reckless, they were constantly rising, and the Government had to keep unremitting watch over them. Fortresses had been built in suitable places and settled for the most part with Yaik Cossacks, who had owned the shores of Ya'ik for generations. But the Cossacks who were to guard the peace and safety of the place had themselves for some time past been a source of trouble and danger to the Government. In 1772 a rising took place in their chief town. It was caused by the stern measures adopted by Major-General Traubenberg in order to bring the Cossacks to due submission. The result was the barbarous assassination of Traubenberg, a mutinous change in the administration of the Cossack army, and, finally, the quelling of the mutiny by means of cannon and cruel punishments.

This had happened some time before I came to the Belogorsky fortress. All was quiet or seemed so; the authorities too easily believed the feigned repentance of the perfidious rebels, who concealed their malice and waited for an opportunity to make fresh trouble.

To return to my story.

One evening (it was at the beginning of October 1773) I sat at home alone, listening to the howling of the autumn wind, and watching through the window the clouds that raced past the moon. Someone came to call me to the Commandant's. I went at once. I found there Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatyitch, and the Cossack sergeant, Maximitch. Neither Vasilissa Yegorovna nor Marya Ivanovna was in the room. The Commandant looked troubled as he greeted me. He closed the doors, made us all sit down except tlie sergeant, who was standing by the door, pulled a letter out of his pocket and said: 'Important news, gentlemen! Listen to what the General writes.' He put on his spectacles and read the following:

TO THE COMMANDANT OF THE BELOGORSKY FORTRESS, CAPTAIN MIRONOV

Private.

I inform you herewith that a runaway Don Cossack, an Old Believer, Emelyan Pugatchov, has perpetrated the unpardonable outrage of assuming the name of the deceased Emperor Peter III and, assembling a criminal band, has caused a rising in the Yaik settlements, and has already taken and sacked several fortresses, committing murders and robberies everywhere. In view of the above, you have, sir, on receipt of this, immediately to take the necessary measures for repulsing the afore-mentioned villain and pretender, and, if possible, for completely destroying him, should he attack the fortress entrusted to your care.

'Take the necessary measures,' said the Commandant, removing his spectacles and folding the paper. 'That's easy enough to say, let me tell you. The villain is evidently strong; and we have only a hundred and thirty men, not counting the Cossacks on whom there is no relying—no offence meant, Maximitch.' (The sergeant smiled.) 'However, there is nothing for it! Carry out your duties scrupulously, arrange for sentry duty and night patrols; in case of attack shut the gates and lead the soldiers afield. And you, Maximitch, keep a strict watch over your Cossacks. The cannon must be seen to and cleaned properly. And, above all, keep the whole thing secret so that no one in the fortress should know as yet.'

Having given us these orders, Ivan Kuzmitch dismissed us. Shvabrin and I walked out together, talking of what we had just heard.

'What will be the end of it, do you think?' I asked him.

'Heaven only knows,' he answered. 'We shall see. So far, I don't think there is much in it. But if . . .'

He sank into thought, and began absent-mindedly whistling a French tune.

In spite of all our precautions the news of Pugatchov soon spread throughout the fortress. Although Ivan Kuzmitch greatly respected his wife, he would not for anything in the world have disclosed to her a military secret entrusted to him. Having received the General s letter, he rather skilfully got rid of Vasilissa Yegorovna by telling her that Father Gerasim had had some startling news from Orenburg, which he was guarding jealously. Vasilissa Yegorovna at once decided to go and call on the priest's wife and. on Ivan Kuzmitch's advice, took Masha with her lest the girl should feel lonely at home.

Finding himself master of the house, Ivan Kuzmitch at once sent for us and locked Palasha in the pantry, so that she should not overhear us.

Vasilissa Yegorovna had not succeeded in gaining any information from the priest's wife and, coming home, she learned that, in her absence, Ivan Kuzmitch had held a council, and that Palasha had been locked up. She guessed that her husband had deceived her and began questioning him. Ivan Kuzmitch, however, had been prepared for attack. He was not in the least abashed and boldly answered his inquisitive consort:

'Our women, my dear, have taken to heating the stoves with straw, let me tell you; and since this may cause a fire I have given strict orders that in the future they should not use straw but wood.'

'Then why did you lock up Palasha?' the Commandant's wife asked. ' What had the poor girl done to have to sit in the pantry till our return ?'

Ivan Kuzmitch was not prepared for this question; he was confused and muttered something very incoherent. Vasilissa Yegorovna saw her husband's perfidy, but knowing that she would not succeed in learning anything from him, ceased her questions, and began talking of salted cucumbers, which the priest's wife prepared in some very special way. Vasilissa Yegorovna could not sleep all night, trying to guess what could be in her husband's mind that she was not supposed to know.

The next day returning from Mass she saw Ivan Ignatyitch pulling out of the cannon bits of rag, stones, splinters, dice, anil all kinds of rubbish that the children had thrust into it.

'What can these military preparations mean?' the Commandant's wife wondered. 'Are they expecting another Kirghis raid? But surely Ivan Kuzmitch would not conceal such trifles from me!' She hailed Ivan Ignatyitch with the firm intention of discovering from him the secret that tormented her feminine curiosity.

Vasilissa Yegorovna made several remarks to him about housekeeping, just as a magistrate who is cross-examining a prisoner begins with irrelevant questions so as to take him off his guard. Then, after a few moments' silence, she sighed deeply and said, shaking her head:

'Oh dear, oh dear! Just think, what news! What ever will come of it ?'

'Don't you worry, madam,' Ivan Ignatyitch answered;

'God willing, all will be well. We have soldiers enough, plenty of gunpowder, and I have cleaned the cannon. We may yet keep Pugatchov at bay. Whom God helps, nobody can harm.'

'And what sort of man is this Pugatchov?' she asked.

Ivan Ignatyitch saw that he had made a slip and tried not to answer. But it was too late. Vasilissa Yegorovna forced him to confess everything, promising not to repeat it to any one.

She kept her promise and did not say a word to any one except to the priest's wife, and that was only because her cow was still grazing in the steppe and might be seized by the rebels.

Soon every one began talking about Pugatchov. The rumours differed. The Commandant sent Maximitch to find out all he could in the neighbouring villages and fortresses. The sergeant returned after two days' absence and said that in the steppe, some forty miles from the fortress, he had seen a lot of lights and had heard from the Bashkirs that an innumerable host was approaching. He could not, however, say anything definite, for he had not ventured to go any farther.

The Cossacks in the fortress were obviously in a state of great agitation; in every street they stood about in groups, whispering together, dispersing as soon as they saw a dragoon or a garrison soldier. Spies were sent among them. Yulai, a Calmuck converted to the Christian faith, brought important information to the Commandant. Yulai said that the sergeant's report was false; on his return, the sly Cossack told his comrades that he had seen the rebels, presented himself to their leader, who gave him his hand to kiss, and held a long conversation with him. The Commandant immediately arrested Maximitch and put Yulai in his place. This step was received with obvious displeasure by the Cossacks. They murmured aloud and Ivan Ignatyitch, who had to carry out the Commandant's order, heard with his own ears how they said: 'You will catch it presently, you garrison rat!' The Commandant had intended to question his prisoner the same day, but Maximitch had escaped, probably with the help of his comrades.

Another thing helped to increase the Commandant's anxiety. A Bashkir was caught carrying seditious papers. On this occasion the Commandant thought of calling his officers together once more and again wanted to send Vasilissa Yegorovna away on some pretext. But since Ivan Kuzmitch was a most truthful and straightforward man, he could think of no other device than the one he had used before.

'I say, Vasilissa Yegorovna,' he began, clearing his throat, 'Father Gerasim, I hear, has received from town . . .'

'Don't you tell stories, Ivan Kuzmitch,' his wife interrupted him. 'I expect you want to call a council to talk about Emelyan Pugatchov without me; but you won't deceive me.'

Ivan Kuzmitch stared at her.

'Well, my dear,' he said,' if you know all about it already, you may as well stay; we will talk before you.'

'That's better, man,' she answered. ' You are no hand at deception; send for the officers.'

We assembled again. Ivan Kuzmitch read to us, in his wife's presence, Pugatchov's manifesto written by some half-illiterate Cossack. The villain declared his intention to march against our fortress at once, invited the Cossacks and the soldiers to join his band, and exhorted the commanders not to resist him, threatening to put them to death if they did. The manifesto was written in crude but impressive language, and must have produced a strong impression upon the people's mind.

'The rascal!' cried Vasilissa Yegorovna. 'To think of his daring to make us such offers! We are to go and meet him and lay the banners at his feet! Ah, the dog! Doesn't he know that we 've been forty years in the army and have seen a thing or two? Surely no commanders have listened to the brigand ?'

'I should not have thought so,' Ivan Kuzmitch answered, 'but it appears the villain has already taken many fortresses.'

'He must really be strong, then,' Shvabrin remarked.

'We are just going to find out his real strength,' said the Commandant. 'Vasilissa Yegorovna, give me the key of the storehouse. Ivan Ignatyitch, bring the Bashkir and tell Yulai to bring the whip.'

'Wait, Ivan Kuzmitch,' said the Commandant's wife, getting up. 'Let me take Masha out of the house; she will be terrified if she hears the screams. And, to tell the truth, I don't care for the business myself. Good luck to you.'

In the old days torture formed so integral a part of the judicial procedure that the beneficent law which abolished it long remained a dead letter. It used to be thought that the criminal's own confession was necessary for convicting him, which is both groundless and wholly opposed to judicial good sense: for if the accused person's denial of the charge is not considered a proof of his innocence, there is still less reason to regard his confession a proof of his guilt. Even now I sometimes hear old judges regretting the abolition of the barbarous custom. But in those days no one doubted the necessity of torture—neither the judges nor the accused. And so the Commandant's order did not surprise or alarm us. Ivan Ignatyitch went to fetch the Bashkir, who was locked up in Vasilissa Yegorovna's storehouse, and a few minutes later the prisoner was led into the entry. The Commandant gave word for him to be brought into the room.

The Bashkir crossed the threshold with difficulty (he was wearing fetters) and, taking oft his tall cap, stood by the door. I glanced at him and shuddered. I shall never forget that man. He seemed to be over seventy. He had neither nose nor ears. His head was shaven; instead of a beard he had a few stray hairs; he was small, thin and bent, but his narrow eyes still had a gleam in them.

'Aha!' said the Commandant, recognizing by the terrible marks one of the rebels punished in 1741. 'I see you are an old wolf and have been in our snares. Rebelling must be an old game to you, to judge by the look of your head. Come nearer; tell me, who sent you?'

The old Bashkir was silent and gazed at the Commandant with an utterly senseless expression.

'Why don't you speak?' Ivan Kuzmitch continued. 'Don't you understand Russian? Yulai, ask him in your language who sent him to our fortress ?'

Yulai repeated Ivan Kuzmitch's question in Tatar. But the Bashkir looked at him with the same expression and did not answer a word.

'Very well!' the Commandant said. 'I will make you speak! Lads, take off his stupid striped gown and streak his back. Mind you do it thoroughly, Yulai!'

Two pensioners began undressing the Bashkir. The unfortunate man's face expressed anxiety. He looked about him like some wild creature caught by children. But when the old man was made to put his hands round the pensioner's neck and was lifted off the ground and Yulai brandished the whip, the Bashkir groaned in a weak, imploring voice and, nodding his head, opened his mouth in which a short stump could be seen instead of a tongue.

When I recall that this happened in my lifetime and that now I have lived to see the gentle reign of the Emperor Alexander, I cannot but marvel at the rapid progress of enlightenment and the diffusion of humane principles. Young man! If my notes ever fall into your hands, remember that the best and most permanent changes are those due to the softening of manners and morals and not to any violent upheavals.

It was a shock to all of us.

'Well,' said the Commandant, 'we evidently cannot leam much from him. Yulai, take the Bashkir back to the store-house. We have a few more things to talk over, gentlemen.'

We began discussing our position when suddenly Vasilissa Yegorovna came into the room breathless and looking extremely alarmed.

'What is the matter with you?' the Commandant asked in surprise.

'My dear, dreadful news!' Vasilissa Yegorovna answered. " The Nizhneozemy fortress was taken this morning. Father Gerasim's servant has just returned from there. He saw it being taken. The Commandant and all the officers were hanged. All the soldiers were taken prisoners. The villains may be here any minute.'

The unexpected news was a great shock to me. I knew the Commandant of the Nizhneozerny fortress, a modest and quiet young man; some two months before he had put up at Ivan Kuzmitch's on his way from Orenburg with his young wife. The Nizhneozerny fortress was some fifteen miles from our fortress. Pugatchov might attack us any moment now. I vividly imagined Marya Ivanovna's fate and my heart sank.

'Listen, Ivan Kuzmitch,' I said to the Commandant, 'it is our duty to defend the fortress to our last breath; this goes without saying. But we must think of the women's safety. Send them to Orenburg if the road is still free, or to some reliable fortress farther away out of the villain's reach.'

Ivan Kuzmitch turned to his wife and said:

'I say, my dear, hadn't I indeed better send you and Masha away while we settle the rebels ?'

'Oh, nonsense!' she replied. 'No fortress is safe from bullets. What's wrong with the Belogorsky? We have lived in it for twenty-two years, thank Heaven! We have seen the Bashkirs and the Kirghis; God willing, Pugatchov won't harm us either.'

'Well, my dear,' Ivan Kuzmitch replied, 'stay if you like, since you rely on our fortress. But what are we to do about Masha? It is all very well if we ward them off or last out till reinforcements come; but what if the villains take the fortress ?'

'Well, then . . .'

Vasilissa Yegorovna stopped with an air of extreme agitation.

'No, Vasilissa Yegorovna,' the Commandant continued, noting that his words had produced an effect perhaps for the first time in his life, 'it is not fit for Masha to stay here. Let us send her to Orenburg, to her godmother's: there are plenty of soldiers there, and enough artillery and a stone wall. And I would advise you to go with her: you may be an old woman, but you'll see what they 'll do to you, if they take the fortress.'

'Very well,' said the Commandant's wife, 'so be it, let us send Masha away. But don't you dream of asking me—I won't go; I wouldn't think of parting from you in my old age and seeking a lonely grave far away. Live together, die together.'

'There is something in that,' said the Commandant. •Well, we must not waste time. You had better get Masha ready for the journey. We will send her at daybreak tomorrow and give her an escort, though we have no men to spare. But where is Masha?'

'At Akulina Pamfilovna's,' the Commandant's wife answered. 'She fainted when she heard about the Nizhneozerny being taken; I am afraid of her falling ill.'

Vasilissa Yegorovna went to see about her daughter's departure. The conversation continued, but I took no part in it, and did not listen. Marya Ivanovna came in to supper, pale and with tear-stained eyes. We ate supper in silence and rose from the table sooner than usual; saying good-bye to the family, we went to our lodgings. But I purposely left my sword behind-and went back for it; I had a feeling that I should find Marya Ivanovna alone. Indeed, she met me at the door and handed me my sword.

'Good-bye, Pyotr Andreyitch,' she said to me with tears. 'I am being sent to Orenburg. May you live and be happy, perhaps God will grant that we meet again, and if not . . .'

She broke into sobs, I embraced her.

'Good-bye, my angel,' I said, 'good-bye, my sweet, my darling! Whatever happens to me, believe that my last thought and my last prayer will be for you!'

Masha sobbed with her head on my shoulder. I kissed her ardently and hastened out of the room.

CHAPTER VII

I DID not undress or sleep that night. I intended to go at dawn to the fortress gate from which Marya Ivanovna was to start on her journey, and there to say good-bye to her for the last time. I was conscious of a great change in myself; the agitation of my mind was much less oppressive than the gloom in which I had been plunged. The grief of parting was mingled with vague but delicious hope, with eager expectation of danger and a feeling of noble ambition. The night passed imperceptibly. I was on the point of going out when my door opened and the corporal came to tell me that our Cossacks had left the fortress in the night, taking Yulai with them by force, and that strange men were riding outside the fortress. The thought that Marya Ivanovna might not have had time to leave terrified me; I hastily gave a few instructions to the corporal and rushed off to the Commandant's.

It was daybreak. As I ran down the street I heard someone calling me. I stopped.

'Where are you going?' Ivan Ignatyitch asked, catching me up. 'Ivan Kuzmitch is on the rampart and has sent me for you. Pugatchov has come.'

'Has Marya Ivanovna left?' I asked with a sinking heart.

'She has not had time,' Ivan Ignatyitch answered. 'The road to Orenburg is cut off; the fortress is surrounded. It is a bad look out, Pyotr Andreyitch!'

We went to the rampart—a natural rise in the ground reinforced by palisading. All the inhabitants of the fortress were crowding there. The soldiers shouldered their rifles.

The cannon had been moved there the day before. The Commandant was walking up and down in front of his small detachment. The presence of danger inspired the old soldier with extraordinary vigour. Some twenty men on horseback were riding to and fro in the steppe not far from the fortress. They seemed to be Cossacks, but there were Bashkirs among them, easily recognized by their lynx caps and quivers. The Commandant walked through the ranks, saying to the soldiers: 'Well, children, let us stand up for our Empress and prove to all the world that we are brave and loyal men!' The soldiers loudly expressed their zeal. Shvabrin stood next to me, looking intently at the enemy. Noticing the commotion in the fortress, the horsemen in the steppe met together and began talking. The Commandant told Ivan Ignatyitch to aim the cannon at the group and fired it himself. The cannon-ball flew with a buzzing sound over their heads without doing any damage. The horsemen dispersed and instantly galloped away; the steppe was empty.

At that moment Vasilissa Yegorovna appeared on the rampart, followed by Masha who would not leave her.

'Well, what's happening?' the Commandant's wife asked. 'How is the battle going? Where is the enemy?'

'The enemy is not far,' Ivan Kuzmitch answered. 'God willing, all sliall be well. Well, Masha, aren't you afraid ?'

'No, father,' Marya Ivanovna answered. 'It is worse at home by myself.'

She looked at me and made an effort to smile. I clasped the hilt of my sword, remembering that the day before I had received it from her hands, as though on purpose to defend her. My heart was glowing, I fancied myself her knight. I longed to prove that I was worthy of her trust and waited impatiently for the decisive hour.

At that moment fresh crowds of horsemen appeared from behind a hill that was less than half a mile from the fortress, and soon the steppe was covered with a multitude of men armed with spears and bows and arrows. A man in a red coat, with a bare sword in his hand, was riding among them mounted on a white horse: he was Pugatchov. He stopped;

the others surrounded him. Four men galloped at full speed, evidently at his command, right up to the fortress. We recognized them for our own treacherous Cossacks. One of them was holding a sheet of paper over his cap; another carried on the point of his spear Yulai's head, which he shook off and threw to us over the palisade. The poor Calmuck's head fell at the Commandant's feet; the traitors shouted:

'Don't shoot, come out to greet the Tsar! the Tsar is here!'

'I'll give it you!' Ivan Kuzmitch shouted. 'Shoot, lads!'

Our soldiers fired a volley. The Cossack who held the letter reeled and fell off his horse; others galloped away. I glanced at Marya Ivanovna. Horrified by the sight of Yulai's blood-stained head and stunned by the volley, she seemed dazed. The Commandant called the corporal and told him to take the paper out of the dead Cossack's hands. The corporal went out into the field and returned leading the dead man's horse by the bridle. He handed the letter to the Commandant. Ivan Kuzmitch read it to himself and then tore it to bits. Meanwhile the rebels were evidently making ready for action. In a few minutes bullets whizzed in our ears, and a few arrows stuck into the ground and the palisade near us.

'Vasilissa Yegorovna,' said the Commandant, 'this is no place for women, take Masha home; you see the girl is more dead than alive.'

Vasilissa Yegorovna, who had grown quiet when the bullets began to fly, glanced at the steppe where a great deal of movement was going on; then she turned to her husband and said:

'Ivan Kuzmitch, life and death are in God's hands; bless Masha. Masha, go to your father!'

Masha, pale and trembling, went up to Ivan Kuzmitch, knelt before him, and bowed down to the ground. The old Commandant made the sign of the cross over her three times, then he raised her and kissing her said in a changed voice:

'Well, Masha, may you be happy. Pray to God; He will not forsake you. If you find a good man, may God give you love and concord. Live as Vasilissa Yegorovna and I have lived. Well, good-bye, Masha. Vasilissa Yegorovna, make haste and take her away!'

Masha flung her arms round his neck and sobbed.

'Let us kiss each other, too,' said the Commandant's wife, bursting into tears. 'Good-bye, my Ivan Kuzmitch. Forgive me if I have vexed you in any way.'

'Good-bye, good-bye, my dear,' said the Commandant, embracing his old wife. 'Well, that will do! Make haste and go home; and, if you have time, dress Masha in a sarafan.'

The Commandant's wife and daughter went away. I followed Marya Ivanovna with my eyes; she looked round and nodded to me. Then Ivan Kuzmitch turned to us and all his attention centred on the enemy. The rebels assembled round their leader and suddenly began dismounting.

'Now, stand firm,' the Commandant said. 'They are going to attack.'

At that moment terrible shouting and yelling was heard; the rebels were running fast towards the fortress. Our cannon was loaded with shot. The Commandant let them come quite near and then fired again. The shot fell right in the middle of the crowd; the rebels scattered and rushed back; their leader alone remained. ... He waved his sword and seemed to be persuading them. . . . The yelling and shouting that had stopped for a moment began again.

'Well, lads,' the Commandant said, 'now open the gates, beat the drum. Forward, children; come out, follow me!'

The Commandant, Ivan Ignatyitch, and I were instantly beyond the rampart; but the garrison lost their nerve and did not move.

'Why do you stand still, children?' Ivan Kuzmitch shouted. 'If we must die, we must—it's all in the day's work!'

At that moment the rebels ran up to us and rushed into the fortress. The drum stopped; the soldiers threw down their rifles; I was knocked down, but got up again and walked into the fortress together with the rebels. The Commandant, wounded in the head, was surrounded by the villains, who demanded the keys; I rushed to his assistance; several burly Cossacks seized me and bound me with their belts, saying:

'You will catch it presently, you enemies of the Tsar!'

They dragged us along the streets; the townspeople came out of their houses with offerings of bread and salt. Church bells were ringing. Suddenly they shouted in the crowd that the Tsar was awaiting the prisoners in the market-place and receiving the oath of allegiance. The people rushed to the market-place; we were driven there also.

Pugatchov was sitting in an arm-chair on the steps of the Commandant's house. He was wearing a red Cossack coat trimmed with gold braid. A tall sable cap with golden tassels was pushed low over his glittering eyes. His face seemed familiar to me. The Cossack elders surrounded him. Father Gerasim, pale and trembling, was standing by the steps with a cross in his hands and seemed to be silently imploring mercy for future victims. Gallows were being hastily put up in the market-place. As we approached, the Bashkirs dispersed the crowd and brought us before Pugatchov. The bells stopped ringing: there was a profound stillness.

'Which is the Commandant?' the Pretender asked. Our Cossack sergeant stepped out of the crowd and pointed to Ivan Kuzmitch. Pugatchov looked at the old man menacingly and said to him:

'How did you dare resist me, your Tsar?' Exhausted by his wound the Commandant mustered his last strength and answered in a firm voice:

'You are not my Tsar; you are a thief and a pretender, let me tell you!'

Pugatchov frowned darkly and waved a white handkerchief. Several Cossacks seized the old Captain and dragged him to the gallows. The old Bashkir, whom we had questioned the night before, was sitting astride on the cross-beam. He was holding a rope and a minute later I saw poor Ivan Kuzmitch swing in the air. Then Ivan Ignatyitch was brought before Pugatchov.

'Take the oath of allegiance to the Tsar Peter III!' Pugatchov said to him.

'You are not our Tsar,' Ivan Ignatyitch answered, repeating his captain's words; 'you are a thief and a pretender, my dear!'

Pugatchov waved his handkerchief again, and the good lieutenant swung by the side of his old chief.

It was my turn next. I boldly looked at Pugatchov, making ready to repeat the answer of my noble comrades. At that moment, to my extreme surprise, I saw Shvabrin among the rebellious Cossacks; he was wearing a Cossack coat and had his hair cropped like theirs. He went up to Pugatchov and whispered something in his ear.

'Hang him!' said Pugatchov, without looking at me.

My head was put through the noose. I began to pray silently, sincerely repenting before God of all my sins and begging Him to save all those dear to my heart. I was dragged under the gallows.

'Never you fear,' the assassins repeated to me, perhaps really wishing to cheer me.

Suddenly I heard a shout: 'Stop, you wretches! Wait!' The hangmen stopped. I saw Savelyitch lying at Pugatchov's feet.

'Dear father,' the poor old man said, 'what would a gentle-born child's death profit you? Let him go; they will give you a ransom for him; and as an example and a warning to others, hang me, if you like—an old man !'

Pugatchov made a sign and they instantly untied me and let go of me.

I cannot say that at that moment I rejoiced at being saved; nor would I say that I regretted it. My feelings were too confused. I was brought before the Pretender once more and made to kneel down. Pugatchov stretched out his sinewy hand to me.

'Kiss his hand, kiss his hand,' people around me said. But I would have preferred the most cruel death to such vile humiliation.

'Pyotr Andreyitch, my dear,' Savelyitch whispered, standing behind me and pushing me forward, 'don't be obstinate! What does it matter? Spit and kiss the vill——

I mean, kiss his hand

I did not stir. Pugatchov let his hand drop, saying with a laugh:

'His honour must have gone crazy with joy. Raise him!'

They pulled me up and left me in peace. I began watching the terrible comedy.

The townspeople were swearing allegiance. They came up one after another, kissed the cross and then bowed to the Pretender. The garrison soldiers were there, too. The regimental tailor, armed with his blunt scissors, was cutting ofi their plaits. Shaking themselves they came to kiss Pugatchov's hand; he gave them his pardon and enlisted them in his gang. All this went on for about three hours. At last Pugatchov got up from the arm-chair and came down the steps accompanied by his elders. A white horse in a rich harness was brought to him. Two Cossacks took him by the arms and put him on the horse. He announced to Father Gerasim that he would have dinner at his house. At that moment a woman's cry was heard. Several brigands had dragged Vasilissa Yegorovna, naked and dishevelled, on to the steps. One of them had already donned her coat. Others were carrying feather-beds, boxes, crockery, linen, and all sorts of household goods.

" My dears, let me go!' the poor old lady cried. 'Have mercy, let me go to Ivan Kuzmitch!'

Suddenly she saw the gallows and recognized her husband.

'Villains!' she cried in a frenzy. 'What have you done to him! Ivan Kuzmitch, light of my eyes, soldier brave and hold! You came to no harm from Prussian swords, or from Turkish guns; you laid down your life not in a combat fair, but perished from a runaway thief!'

'Silence the old witch!' said Pugatchov.

A young Cossack hit her on the head with his sword and she fell dead on the steps. Pugatchov rode away; the people rushed after him.

CHAPTER VIII

THE market-place was empty. I was still standing there, unable to collect my thoughts, confused by the terrible impressions of the day.

Uncertainty as to Marya Ivanovna's fate tortured me most. Where was she? What had happened to her? Had she had time to hide? Was her shelter secure? Full of anxious thoughts I entered the Commandant's house. All was empty; chairs, tables, boxes had been smashed, crockery broken; everything had been taken. I ran up the short stairway that led to the top floor and for the first time in my life entered Marya Ivanovna's room. I saw her bed pulled to pieces by the brigands; the wardrobe had been broken and pillaged; the sanctuary lamp was still burning before the empty iconstand. The little mirror that hung between the windows had been left, too. . . . Where was the mistress of this humble virginal cell? A terrible thought flashed through my mind: I imagined her in the brigands' hands . . . my heart sank. ... I wept bitterly and called aloud my beloved's name. ... At that moment I heard a slight noise and Palasha, pale and trembling, appeared from behind the wardrobe.

'Ah, Pyotr Andreyitch!' she cried, clasping her hands.

'What a day! What horrors!'

'And Marya Ivanovna?' I asked, impatiently. 'What has happened to her?'

'She is alive,' Palasha answered; 'she is hiding in Akulina Pamfilovna's house.'

'At the priest's!' I cried, in horror. ' Good God! Pugatchov is there!'

I dashed out of the room, instantly found myself in the street and ran headlong to the priest's house, not seeing or feeling anything. Shouts, laughter, and songs came from there. . . . Pugatchov was feasting with his comrades. Palasha followed me. I sent her to call out Akulina Pamfilovna without attracting attention. A minute later the priest's wife came into the entry to speak to me with an empty bottle in her hands.

'For God's sake, where is Marya Ivanovna?' I asked, with inexpressible anxiety.

'She is lying on my bed there, behind the partition, poor darling,' the priest's wife answered. 'Well, Pyotr Andreyitch, we very nearly had trouble, but thank God, all passed off well: the villain had just sat down to dinner when she, poor thing, came to herself and groaned. I simply gasped! He heard. '' Who is it groaning there, old woman? " he said. I made a deep bow to the thief: " My niece is ill, sire, she has been in bed for a fortnight." " And is your niece young?"

" She is, sire." " Show me your niece, old woman." My heart sank, but there was nothing for it. " Certainly, sire; only the girl cannot get up and come into your presence." —" Never mind, old woman, I will go and have a look at her myself." And, you know, the wretch did go behind the partition; what do you think? He drew back the curtain, glanced at her with hawk's eyes—and nothing happened. . . . God saved us! But, would you believe it, both my husband and I had prepared to die a martyr's death. Fortunately the dear girl did not know who he was. Good Lord, what things we have lived to see! Poor Ivan Kuzmitch! Who would have thought it! And Vasilissa Yegorovna! And Ivan Ignatyitch! What did they hang him for? How is it you were spared? And what do you think of Shvabrin? You know, he cropped his hair like a Cossack and is sitting here with them feasting! He is a sharp one, there 's no gainsaying! And when I spoke about my sick niece, his eyes, would you believe it, went through me like a knife; but he hasn't betrayed us, and that's something to be thankful for.'

At that moment the drunken shouts of the guests were heard, and Father Gerasim's voice. The guests were clamouring for more drink and the priest was calling his wife. Akulina Pamfilovna was in a flutter.

'You go home now, Pyotr Andreyitch,' she said. 'I haven't any time for you; the villains are drinking. It might be the end of you if they met you now. Good-bye, Pyotr Andreyitch. What is to be, will be; I hope God will not forsake us!'

The priest's wife left me. I set off to my lodgings feeling somewhat calmer. As I passed through the market-place I saw several Bashkirs, who crowded round the gallows, pulling the boots off the hanged men's feet; I had difficulty in suppressing my indignation, but I knew that it would have been useless to intervene. The brigands were running about the fortress, plundering the officers' quarters. The shouts of the drunken rebels resounded everywhere. I reached my lodgings. Savelyitch met me at the threshold.

' Thank God!' he cried, when he saw me. ' I was afraid the villains had seized you again. Well, Pyotr Andreyitch, my dear! Would you believe it, the rascals have robbed us of everything: clothes, linen, crockery—they have left nothing. But there! Thank God they let you off with your life! Did you recognize their leader, sir?'

'No, I didn't; why, who is he?'

'What, sir? You have forgotten that drunkard who took the hareskin jacket from you at the inn? The coat was as good as new, and the brute tore it along the seams as he struggled into it!'

I was surprised. Indeed, Pugatchov had a striking resemblance to my guide. I felt certain Pugatchov and he were the same person and understood the reason for his sparing me. I could not help marvelling at the strange concatenation of circumstances: a child's coat given to a tramp had saved me from the gallows, and a drunkard who had wandered from inn to inn was besieging fortresses and shaking the foundations of the State!

'Won't you have something to eat?' asked Savelyitch, true to his habit. 'There is nothing at home; I will look about and prepare something for you.'

Left alone, I sank into thought. What was I to do? It was not fitting for an officer to remain in a fortress that belonged to the villain or to follow his gang. It was my duty to go where my services could be of use to my country in the present trying circumstances. . . . But love prompted me to stay by Marya Ivanovna to protect and defend her. Although I had no doubt that things would soon change, I could not help shuddering at the thought of the danger she was in.

My reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a Cossack who had run to tell me that 'the great Tsar was asking for me'.

'Where is he?' I said, making ready to obey.

'In the Commandant's house,' the Cossack answered. 'After dinner our father went to the bath-house and now he is resting. Well, your honour, one can see by everything that he is a person of importance: at dinner he was pleased to eat two roast sucking-pigs, and he likes the bath-house so hot that even Taras Kurochkin could not stand it—he passed on the birch to Fomka Bikbaev, and had to have cold water poured over him. There 's no denying it, all his ways are so grand. . . . And they say, in the bath-house, he showed them the royal marks on his breast: on one side the two-headed eagle, the size of a penny, and on the other his own likeness.'

I did not think it necessary to dispute the Cossack's opinion and, together with him, went to the Commandant's house, trying to picture my meeting with Pugatchov and wondering how it would end. The reader may well guess that I was not altogether calm.

It was growing dusk when I reached the Commandant's house. The gallows, with its victims, loomed menacingly in the dark. Poor Vasilissa Yegorovna's body was still lying at the bottom of the steps, where two Cossacks were mounting guard. The Cossack who had brought me went to announce me and, returning at once, led me into the room where the night before I had taken such tender leave of Marya Ivanovna.

A curious scene was before me. Pugatchov and a dozen Cossack elders, wearing coloured shirts and caps, were sitting round a table covered with a cloth and littered with bottles and glasses; their faces were flushed with drink and their eyes glittered. Neither Shvabrin nor our sergeant—the freshly recruited traitors—were among them.

'Ah, your honour!' said Pugatchov, when he saw me, 'come and be my guest; here is a place for you, you are very welcome.'

The company made room for me. I sat down at the end of the table without speaking. My neighbour, a slim and good-looking young Cossack, poured out a glass of vodka for me, which I did not touch. I looked at my companions with curiosity. Pugatchov sat in the place of honour leaning on the table, his black beard propped up with his broad fist. His features, regular and rather pleasant, had nothing ferocious about them. He often turned to a man of fifty, addressing him sometimes as Count, sometimes as Timofeitch, and occasionally calling him uncle. They all treated one another as comrades and showed no particular deference to their leader. They talked of the morning's attack, of the success of the rising, and of plans for the future. Every one boasted, offered his opinion, and freely argued with Pugatchov. At this strange council of war it was decided to go to Orenburg: a bold move which was very nearly crowned with disastrous success! The march was to begin the following day.

'Well, brothers,' Pugatchov said, 'let us have my favourite song before we go to bed. Tchumakov, strike up!'

My neighbour began in a high-pitched voice a mournful Volga-boatmen's song and all joined in:

' Murmur not, mother-forest of rustling green leaves, Hinder not a brave lad thinking his thoughts, For to-morrow I go before the judgment-seat, Before the dreaded judge, our sovereign Tsar, And the Tsar, our lord, will ask of me:

Tell me now, good lad, tell me, peasant's son, With whom didst thou go robbing and plundering, And how many were thy comrades bold? I shall tell thee the whole truth and naught but truth. Four in number were my comrades bold:

My first trusty comrade was the dark night, And my second true comrade—my knife of steel, And my third one was my faithful steed, And the fourth one was my stout bow, And my messengers were my arrows sharp. Then our Christian Tsar will thus speak to me; Well done, good lad, thou peasant's son! Thou knowest how to rob and to answer for it, And a fine reward is in store for thee— A mansion high in the open plain, Two pillars and a cross-beam I grant thee.'

I cannot describe how affected I was by this peasant song about the gallows, sung by men doomed to the gallows. Their menacing faces, their tuneful voices, the mournful expression they gave to the words expressive enough in themselves—it all thrilled me with a feeling akin to awe.

The guests drank one more glass, got up from the table, and took leave of Pugatchov. I was about to follow them when Pugatchov said to me:

'Sit still, I want to talk to you.'

We were left alone. We were both silent for a few minutes;

Pugatchov was watching me intently, occasionally screwing up his left eye with an extraordinary expression of slyness and mockery. At last he laughed with such unaffected gaiety that, as I looked at him, I laughed, too, without knowing why.

'Well, your honour?' he said to me. 'Confess you had a bit of a fright when my lads put your head in the noose? I expect the sky seemed no bigger than a sheepskin to you. . . . And you would have certainly swung if it had not been for your servant. I knew the old creature at once. Well, did you think, your honour, that the man who brought you to the inn was the great Tsar himself?' (He assumed an air of mystery and importance.) 'You are very much at fault,' he continued, 'but I have spared you for your kindness, for your having done me a service when I had to hide from my enemies. But this is nothing to what you shall see! It's not to be compared to the favour I'll show you when I obtain my kingdom! Do you promise to serve me zealously?'

The rascal's question and his impudence struck me as so amusing that I could not help smiling.

' What are you smiling at?' he asked with a frown. ' Don't you believe I am the Tsar? Answer me plainly.'

I was confused. I felt I could not acknowledge the tramp as Tsar: to do so seemed to me unpardonable cowardice. To call him a pretender to his face meant certain death; and what I was ready to do under the gallows, in sight of all the people and in the first flush of indignation, now seemed to me useless bravado. I hesitated. Pugatchov gloomily awaited my reply. At last (and to this day I recall that moment with self-satisfaction) the feeling of duty triumphed over human weakness. I said to Pugatchov:

'Listen, I will tell you the whole truth. Think, how can I acknowledge you as Tsar? You are an intelligent man; you would see I was pretending.'

'Who, then, do you think I am?'

" God only knows; but whoever you may be, you are playing a dangerous game.'

Pugatchov glanced at me rapidly.

'So you don't believe,' he said, 'that I am the Tsar Peter III? Very well. But there is such a thing as success for the bold. Didn't Grishka Otrepyev reign in the old days? Tliink of me what you like, but follow me. What does it matter to you? One master is as good as another. Serve me truly and faithfully and I'll make you Field-Marshal and Prince. What do you think?'

'No,' I answered, firmly. 'I am a gentleman by birth; I swore allegiance to the Empress: I cannot serve you. If you really wish me well, let me go to Orenburg.'

Pugatchov was thoughtful.

'And if I let you go' he said, '-Would you promise, at any rate, not to fight against me ?'

'How can I promise that?' I answered. 'You know yourself I am not free to do as I like; if they send me against you, I shall go, there is nothing for it. You yourself are a leader now; you require obedience from those who serve under you. What would you call it if I refused to fight when my service was required? My life is in your hands; if you let me go, I will thank you; if you hang me. God be your judge; but I have told you the truth.'

My sincerity impressed Pugatchov.

'So be it,' he said, clapping me on the shoulder. 'I don't do things by halves. Go wherever you like and do what you think best. Come to-morrow to say good-bye to me and now go to bed; I, too, am sleepy.'

I left Pugatchov and went out into the street. The night was still and frosty. The moon and the stars shone brightly, shedding their light on the market-place and the gallows. In the fortress all was dark and quiet. Only the tavern windows were lighted and the shouts of late revellers came from there. I looked at the priest's house. The gates and shutters were closed. All seemed quiet there.

I went home and found Savelyitch grieving for my absence. The news of my freedom delighted him more than I can say.

'Thanks be to God!' he said, crossing himself. 'We shall leave the fortress as soon as it is light and go straight away. I have prepared some supper for you, my dear; have something to eat and then sleep peacefully till morning.'

I followed his advice and having eaten my supper with great relish went to sleep on the bare floor, exhausted both in mind and body.

CHAPTER IX

EARLY in the morning I was wakened by the drum. I went to the market-place. Pugatchov's crowds were already forming into ranks by the gallows, where the victims of the day before were still hanging. The Cossacks were on horseback, the soldiers shouldered their rifles. Banners were flying. Several cannon, among which I recognized ours, were placed on their carriages. All the inhabitants were there, too, waiting for the Pretender. A Cossack stood at the steps of the Commandant's house, holding a beautiful white Kirghis horse by the bridle. I searched with my eyes for Vasilissa Yegorovna's body. It had been moved a little to one side and covered with a tarpaulin. At last Pugatchov appeared in the doorway. The people took off their caps'. Pugatchov stood on the steps and greeted them all. One of the elders gave him a bag of coppers and he began throwing them down in handfuls. The crowd rushed to pick them up, shouting; some were hurt in the scramble. Pugatchov was surrounded by his chief confederates. Shvabrin was among them. Our eyes met; he could read contempt in mine, and he turned away with an expression of sincere malice and feigned mockery. Catching sight of me in the crowd, Pugatchov nodded and beckoned to me.

'Listen,' he said to me. 'Go at once to Orenburg and tell the Governor and all his generals from me that they are to expect me in a week. Advise them to meet me with child-like love and obedience, else they will not escape a cruel death. A pleasant journey to you, your honour!'

Then he turned to the people and said, pointing to Shvabrin: 'Here, children, is your new commandant. Obey him in everything, and he will be answerable to me for you and the fortress.'

I heard these words with horror; Shvabrin was put in command of the fortress; Marya Ivanovna would be in his power! My God! what would become of her? Pugatchov came down the steps. His horse was brought to him. He quickly jumped into the saddle without waiting for the Cossacks to help him. At that moment I saw my Savelyitch step out off the crowd and hand Pugatchov a sheet of paper. I could not imagine what this would lead to.

'What is. this ?' Pugatchov asked, with an air of importance.

'Read and you will see,' Savelyitch answered.

Pugatchov took the paper and gazed at it significantly for a few moments.

'Why do you write so illegibly?' he said at last. 'Our bright eyes can make nothing of it. Where is my chief secretary ?'

A young lad in a sergeant's uniform at once ran up to Pugatchov..

'Read it aloud,' said the Pretender, giving him the paper. I was extremely curious to know what Savelyitch could have written to Pugatchov. The chief secretary began reading aloud, syllable by syllable:

'Two dressing-gowns, one cotton and one striped silk, worth six roubles.'

'What does this mean?' Pugatchov asked, with a frown.

'Tell him to read on,' Savelyitch answered calmly.

The chief secretary continued:

'A uniform coat of fine green cloth, worth seven roubles. White cloth trousers, worth five roubles. Twelve fine linen shirts with frills, worth ten roubles. A tea-set worth two and a half roubles. . . .'

'What nonsense is this?' Pugatchov interrupted him. 'What do I care about tea-sets and frills and trousers?'

Savelyitch cleared his throat and began explaining:

'Well, you see, sir, this is a list of my master's goods stolen by the villains. . . .'

'What villains ?' Pugatchov said menacingly.

'I am sorry; it was a slip of the tongue,' Savelyitch answered. 'They are not villains, of course, your men, but they rummaged about and took these things. Don't be angry: a horse has four legs and yet it stumbles. Tell him to read to the end anyway.'

' Read on,' Pugatchov said.

The secretary continued:

'A cotton bedspread, a silk eiderdown, worth four roubles. A foxfur coat, covered with red cloth, worth forty roubles. Also a hareskin jacket given to your honour at the inn, worth fifteen roubles. . . .'

'What next!' Pugatchov shouted, w